#should i have a cw tag for the second image?

[paintingpuff]

I have been Assigned Anglerfish by Tumblr

bonus:

[idkfitememate]

Love Written in the Stars

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : SAGAU!CREATOR x Reader

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. :

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff & angst

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Y’all… I couldn’t help it… you tall as FUCK (If you haven’t noticed I like making reader big because we’re always tiny and it sucks-)

The Creator - They whom created all - was a benevolent Being.

The stars and beyond the known universe mortal and immortal eye could see, was ruled by Their gentle hand - that of which carved mountains and forged rivers in Their awesome image - and claimed by Their loving heart.

The Creator - that of whom bleeds in golden blood and cries tears untainted and pure - had no name that can be said by Teyvatian tongue. No one language - be it Old Inazunese or Forgotten Liynese or Ancient Mondstan - had a single name for It. No one title seemed enough to envelope even a fraction of Their power. Not a single word one may have used to describe It was enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

That’s why every nation had Shrines and Temples and Churches dedicated to Their honor. The ripest fruits, the shiniest metals, and most beautiful of arts and culture and literature and knowledge - anything a person could think of would be given to The Creator. In hope that maybe a person would be blessed.

That perhaps they may be recognized by Them.

Like the Acolytes.

Strongest of the strong in terms of Vision and Element users. Gods and mortals alike blessed with the ability to create large bursts of energy and fearsome attacks.

The front lines.

The most blessed.

The one whom worshipped the most.

If these Acolytes were not helping around their nations they were preying, spending no time for themselves. For how could they? Being blessed in the eyes of their Creator to have even a fraction of The Creator’s power for a blip of a second was more that what their life would and should ever be worth - they owed their entire puny existences to their Creator what kind of awful children would they be to not give their everything - lives, fame, money, worldly possessions, etc - to their almighty Creator?

And so, this was Teyvat.

A land ruled by a merciful Creator who was heard - but not seen - and loving to their subjects.

Until you came.

When you wondered into Mondstadt, the first thing noticed by the people was how similar you looked and acted like their Creator. Long loose-fitting clothes that left little to the imagination flowed around your body with mystifying patters and colors. Your feet lightly - barely - touched the surface of the earth, giving you a sense of floating as you aimlessly flitted around the area, seemingly entranced with worldly wonders like a sheltered child who’d never seen their own shadow.

The people of Mondstadt bit their tongue as you walked around, seemingly on another plane with a hauntingly gently smile placed gently on your lips, serene mind seemingly hours away from the watchful eyes of every Mondstadtian watching you like hawks above a sparrow. You were unaware. Unfrightened. Unchallenged.

Then Barbatos descended.

His voice, usually like a playful breeze, whipped around like a wind storm as he spoke to you:

“Whom DARES copy the looks of Teyvat’s Master and DARES try to get away with it!!?!?”

The people of Mondstadt hid behind walls and pillars, having never seen their God so offended - really, they had never seen him be anything but jovial in this lifetime, stories of his wrath long being buried under snow in Dragonspine and in the seas surrounding his Nation.

Anemo wrapped around your body and lifted you, though in both Barbatos’s and his people’s furies they could not see how his angered winds became light wisps as they lifted you high - like an offering.

His shouts of threats and death went through deaf ears as you stared at the small Archon with wonder, reaching a hand out and patting his head.

The world itself seemed to stop, the whipping winds dying down as his already wide eyes became even wider. His wings fluttered and feathers rose. His breath stuttered when you ran manicured nails across his scalp, a soothing sensation trickling down across his very being.

Everything seemed to stop. No one breathed - besides you who continued to pet the God’s hair. The silence was deafening, enough to hear a dandelion seed whisk through the air. Venti’s eyes traveled up to your own and you smiled - he shuddered.

It was instantaneous, really.

The sharp feeling of winds searing through your flesh and bones, ripping your wrist and hand away from your body. Venti’s blank expression scorched your soul, your smile dropping in favor of surprise. Your lost limb flew through the air and landed before the startled Mondstadtians.

Red.

Your blood, was red.

It was immediate, the way you were thrown to the ground and bound by those with Visions, tight and painful did the ropes squeeze around your ankles - not your wrist for you had only the one now. The gag of leather they stuffed in your mouth was hard and smelled awful, and the bag they threw over your head was stiff and scratchy.

You barely struggled as they took you, paraded you around town, and eventually threw you in some dank dungeon, rank and humid, and left you to rot.

Weeks passed, perhaps even a month. You didn’t know how you had survived but you had, and you were wretched from your cell, still bound and gagged, and thrown onto… something. And it started. A parade… maybe a caravan? You couldn’t see but you could feel the climates change as you were dragged about Teyvat, met with the cheers of vicious civilians who threw foods and rocks at your bound form, much to the amusements of nearly all Gods you came across.

After Barbatos removed a hand, Morax took his turn and stabbed a Polearm through one of your thighs, leaving it there for the wound to fester and decay. Beel did the same, slashing across your chest so that your Red, ‘unholy’ blood would be on display.

The only God who showed you any sympathy was Nahida - it would feel rude to call her by her Godly name when she treated you with more humanity than any other human you had encountered. While her subjects cheered for your death, she sat silently, ashamed. When asked if she wanted to stake her name on your body, a mark to show Sumeru would never forgive, she gave you little more than a cut on your arm. While her nation was distressed at her action, you felt the truth. She had healed you, set a seed in your soul so that warmth spread through your veins and numbed the stabbing pain of all your other wounds.

You’re sure you saw her smile.

However, it was the same through all other Nations. Furina made a show of it and formed a water bubble around your sack, dampening it so you would be waterlogged for the rest of your journey, slowly water boarding you. Mavuika did something similar, slamming a club into your scull till a sickening crack echoed through the arena, met with joyous cheers.

Finally, you made it to the Tsaritsa’s land. The people in charge of transporting you left you in your now torn and rag-like fabrics - no longer flowing and white - and soggy sack, so that you would feel the full effects of the bone freezing chill of Shnez.

She seemed uninterested when you first met her, or at least you thought so, then your entire bottom half was frozen, skin long since numbed and blue from the frigid temperatures.

With the parade done - which was a month long campaign - you were taken to some kind of middle point, where all the Nations gathered to witness the finale of your misery: your execution.

The blade was sharp, ceremonial carvings gracefully curved over its surface, glinting in the midday light. The roar of the crowd was deafening, if you could’ve, you would’ve moved your one hand to cover your ears from the noise, but naturally, you were tied down. The damp sack had been ripped from your head so the crowd could watch the life in your eyes die, which creeped you out.

The honor had gone to Barbatos, being that it was his Nation that captured you. You could vaguely hear Morax mumbling under his breath but ignored it in favor of looking to Nahida.

Where every other Archon was standing strong, sure, she wasn’t. She was shaking, small tears dolloping her eyes. She was scared, worried, so you offered her a smile. You could hear the confusion run through her head at your grin. Though before any words of comfort could be offered, it happened.

The pain was brief, quick. The searing pain you felt through your neck and throat passed by immediately leaving you in painless bliss for a moment. The deafening cheers from the crowd silenced as the light left your eyes.

Barbatos raised the sword high.

The crowd roared.

Nahida clasped her hands together, holding back tears.

It had been done.

Or so… they thought.

The skies grew dark in mere seconds, wind and rain whipping across the gathered crowds of mortals and immortals. The Gods looked to the skies in confusion, should their Creator not be proud of what they’d done?

A blink and they would’ve missed it, the hand that guided the winds took Barbatos by the neck and squeeze, before throwing him down onto the earth before his subjects. Both the Archons and Acolytes looked around, weapons raised.

The wind continued to whip, Barbatos desperately trying to get control but the winds refused to listen to the traitor. A storm began to brew, and it was only mere seconds before a mix of hale and rain poured from the sky, lightning catching unsuspecting crowd members off guard. The Archons tried desperately to regain control, teeth gritting and gnashing but nothing worked. As regular civilians began to cry, Their voice sounded.

“You dare to lay a finger on my beloved?” They whispered, and even despite this their voice made bounds above the storm. Their voice was soft as snow and rung like a bell. The storming clouds parted, giving way for Them.

Slowly They descended, birds singing Their praises as nearby animals bowed. It was as the Teyvat itself sighed in relief when Their bare foot touch ground.

The gods mouths gaped, long having resigned to a life where they may never seen Them, only to see Their heavenly beauty after years of silence. Quickly they fell to their knees, heads hung low with noses pressed to the wet mud. Their followers quickly bowed, faces pressed to the floor as They found their footing on the soft earthy ground beneath Them.

Their figure glided across the floor, not sparring a passing glance to anyone, only slowing as They came to your beheaded body. A whimper left Their lips when They picked up your head, hugging it tight to their body while glaring at the gods.

“… How could you…” They cried, voice swept up by the winds and traveling through the crowds. Eyes widened as pants grew from the now steady stream of tears running down Their face.

“I-If I may be so bold, Your Grace-“ Barbatos started, but he was silenced by a single harsh glare from Them.

They held your head close, pressing kisses to your forehead and whispering as They gilded over to where your still bleeding body lie. Gods and Acolytes watched in wonder as They placed your head onto the stump of your neck with care, humming while energy flowed through your body.

Eyes widened as your wound healed itself, color returning to your skin and muscles loosening. They took you into Their hands, holding you bridal style as your torn and weathered clothes rebuilt themselves at Their silent request. Golden power flowed in your veins, glowing proudly.

The Archons and Acolytes stared on in both fear and adoration as you came back to life, eyes opening to find Their’s staring right back. You smiled, which led to a chuckle, pressing a palm against Their face, grunting at how some of the Archons had to hold back noises of shock.

“My dearest, you came.” You mused, “I had begun to worry.” Everyone seemed to gawk at your causal tone while you situated yourself in Their arms, sitting up and wrapping your legs around Their waist and arms around Their shoulders. They grabbed your thighs and sighed, nuzzling into your neck.

“I would’ve come sooner my love, but knowing you, I waited. I hope this cured that morbid curiosity of yours?” They whispered. Nobody strained to hear what They said, as the world had fallen silent with Their appearance.

The Gods flintched… ‘My love’..?

You hummed pulling a lock of their hair into your hand and twirling it, thinking.

“I think it did,” you decided, “but, I don’t much like having one hand, I’ve found.” Barbatos shuttered. It was evident he was holding back tears to everyone, shaking as he knelt with the sword still stained in your blood before him.

Their eyes widened for a moment before nodding, one hand leaving your thighs and reaching for your wrist, assessing the damage. Their other hand drifted, a newly formed arm taking its place as the old one felt across your body for scars, wiping them away as though they were made of dust. They pressed a kiss to the stump of your wrist, golden light slowly over taking the spot until a hand blossomed like a golden rose.

You smiled and laughed joyously at the new hand, flexing fingers and rotating your wrist. You turned to Them with pursed lips, then used the new hand to grip Their hair and pull Them in for a kiss, Their hands tightening around your thighs while They leaned impossibly closer into you. You parted the kiss, the both of you flustered and grinning.

“Hehe… are you alright, dearest?” You hummed, staring at Them with Their blissed out expression. They simply giggled, nuzzling Their face into the other’s neck.

“… My Lord?” The call was soft, nearly silent. The world itself seemed to pause, the only true audible sound being your breathing.

Their hands tightened around your legs, gripping the flesh with animosity - though They were still careful enough to not leave bruises. Slowly Their head towards the call, eyeing all the Archons behind them with hatred. They scanned the row of shivering gods… besides Nahida.

She stood strong, hands clasped as she stared up at the both of you. Then, her head bowed low. The stern silence that encompassed the area lifted - if just slightly - at her display.

“Your Grace,” she began, “Please accept my most humble apologies-“ “There is no need for that, child.” They interrupted. A hand silently took the small God’s chin, tilting her face from side to side.

“You are Lesser Lord Kusanali… Buer, correct?” They asked. Nahida nodded. They hummed.

“Then there is no need to apologize. You did no wrong.” Their words were clear. Concise. They left nothing for interpretation. Every other Archon’s eyes widened as a hand found itself into Nahida’a hair.

“You did well, child.” They praised. The Dendro Archon herself stood still - rigid - as Their hand found and caressed strands of hair. Her breathing slowed as she leaned into Their touch.

The world was silent at the praise for the littlest Archon - all others in shock as they watched on. You still sat snug in Their grasp, hands clutched at Their shoulders while you lazily watched the praise as it happened - weariness in your bones ignited the large yawn that breached your lips.

“Is my Love tired?” They cooed - leaving you to whine and push away from droves of hands trying to pinch your cheeks. Onlookers still sat in shock as Their playfulness matched yours.

“M… My Liege?” The moment was broken by a small, trembling voice. Both your and Their gazes moved to the other Gods - Archon title stripped away in your mind - to see who had the audacity to speak.

Focalor. Her hands were clasped together - much like Nahida’s had been - with a shaky smile plastered to her lips. Any softness in Their eyes vanished when They stared at her.

“My Liege, if I may be so bold-“ “You are being bold by speaking to me after your crimes, but continue.” All the other gods jaws dropped. Focalor began to shake, tears staining her eyelids.

“O-of course! Uhm.. My Liege, my Lord, our Shining, Glimmering, Illustrious-“ “Get on with it.” “Y-YES!! What exactly is your… uh… relationship with the false one?”

Silence quickly swept over the stage.

Flustered, Focalor jumped up, tears fulling streaming down her face. She blabbered on and on - excuse after excuse about how it had become habit and how she no longer meant it and blah blah blah… you stopped listening as she brought up the others and their influences, which led to a rising argument.

The air grew suffocating as Focalor dragged more gods into her arguing, completely unaware of the stewing wrath of your Love under you. You huffed at Their expression, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Their cheek.

“I think,” you whispered, “that just leaving now and allowing them to fight it out would be best. And funniest… mostly funny.” Their head tilted towards you, humming, a grin growing on Their face. Before They could respond you lit up.

“Can we take Nahida too? She was sweet.” Their grin turned to small chuckles and a nod at your question, resulting in a fist pump from you.

“All this time has made you quite sadistic hm?” You flushed, face hot and laughed back.

“Maybe just a little.” You mused. They smiled and silent reached a hand to Nahida - who was unfortunately engrossed in the argument before all of you - and gently lifted her into a pair of arms.

Nahida looked surprised as you pressed a finger to your lips and winked - before all three of you lightly disappeared in a cloud of light smoke, rising into the sky, leaving the now loudly arguing gods behind to fight before their shell-shocked followers.

Like losers.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🎂🍦🍩୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

The halls of the Chapel were silent. That silence was then promptly broken by the sounds of six distinct walks through the halls.

You sat on the lap of your Love, resting against Their chest to nap - disturbed by the marching from down the halls. You groaned, shoving your head into Their chest, causing them to laugh.

“Looks as though we have company, Dear.” They sung - your only response was a groan.

You both listened, unmoving, as the steps grew closer and closer. You didn’t turn around when they entered your main throne chambers.

Together to footsteps stopped - and in their place six loud thuds echoed as each god fell to their knees. You sighed and pressed further into Them, taking some strands off hair between your fingers and curling them gently.

“Why have you six come to us?” Their voice did well to hide Their anger. Eyes hidden from all but your own glared down at those before you both - those whom would never be worth your time again.

“We have come… to… apologize.” Said Morax. The silence that then filled the air was palpable - able to be sliced through with a knife.

They only stared at those below you while you continued to simply lay on Them, soft breaths bordering on snores. The awkwardness of Their lack of response seemed to be weighing on their shoulders because after a few more minutes of silence, Beel spoke up.

“We are apologizing because we recognize that we made a mistake, My Lord.” She was curt and straight to the point. It almost pissed you off - if you weren’t so tired and bored of the interaction all ready, you huffed into Their neck and They sighed back. With a wave of Their hand, They answered with one word.

“Dismissed.”

You could hear the gods hearts shatter under Their cold gaze - some started and sputter and mutter while others softly gazed at the floor with blank expressions.

“B-but you Illumanence!! Surely you must understand it was just an- an… an accident we-“ “Silence.”

All speech came to a screeching halt. Your closed eyes pressed against Their neck as the order hung in the air. Their hands ran across your spine and shoulders in a soothing way - but Their eyes never left the pitiful forms of those gods before you.

“My allowing of your continued existences is enough of a mercy for such… insolence. Begone with you. Leave. Before I change my mind…” This was the coldest you had ever heard Their voice.

The air grew icy with Their demand and within seconds - the gods had left. There was no reason to continue to grovel, especially with you in Their arms.

“They are gone now, Love.” You hummed, pressing yourself further into them, as though you wanted to combine and become one with Them. They giggled.

“Mmmm… I wanna take a nap.” You mumbled, barely shifting as They picked you up in Their arms as they rose.

“That would be beneficial… considering the tea party we are set to have with Lesser- ahem. I mean, Nahida this afternoon.” You lifted your head with a lazy grin.

“Yippiee…” You cheered, half-heartedly raising an arm before dropping it with a sigh.

“Mmm that was tiring… I don’t like hearing their voices.” You whined. They hummed, continuing to walk you both to your quarters.

“I could get rid of them-“ You snorted.

“No no, that won’t really do much for us heh.” Your voice became more whispery as you got closer to your bedroom. They hushed you, caressing your head.

“You won’t have to see them again if you don’t wish, love.” The door clicked open and silently slid shut behind you. They gently placed you in the large, plush bed in the middle of the room.

You watched as They moved about - the sounds of water running in the connect bathroom soothing your mind. Sunlight beamed through the window gently, warming your body some as you slipped under icy sheets that began to warm beneath your body.

The world began to drown out as your eye lids slowly shut - the last thing you hear being Their voice.

“Sleep well my Darling, I love you.”

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : GUESS WHOS BACK. BACK AGAIN. This was not the best but I feel it’s pretty good for first thing back :3 also FUCK YOU TUMBLR FOR FUCKING MY DRAFT UP DIE-

[unordinaries]

presented without comment

(chapters 280 + 344)

[gayangelcrimes]

Doomed lovers

[heizlut]

Overstim/medical kink for albedo? :>

i am on my KNEES for albedo. anything he wants from me i'll be like "yes, sir, daddy, sir🫡" let's make this a lil part 2 of Being Albedo's Assistant shall we?

Being Albedo's Assistant part 2

cw: medical play, body/pussy inspection, overstimulation, slight belly bulge, squirting, creampie, praise

tags: sub fem! reader, soft dom! albedo, he gives a bit of yandere vibes at the end hehe, mostly proofread

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

˖⭒☾˳·˖✶ ˖⭒☾˳·˖✶ ˖⭒☾˳·˖✶ ˖⭒☾˳

It was safe to say your relationship with Albedo had changed for the better since the day he experimented on you, fucking his cock into your sweet pussy for the first time a few days ago. You were giddy as you made your way back up through Dragonspine and into his camp. Albedo had contacted you that morning asking if you would help him with another study on the human body.

Albedo turns his head to the camp entrance when he hears the sound of your footsteps crunching in the snow. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips when you enter, "I'm glad to see you made it safe." You try hard not to blush as images of the last time he experimented with you flashed through you head, "I always do. Don't worry about me so much..." Albedo breaths out a small chuckle, "It's hard not to worry when you're so much more than an assistant to me." Now you're really blushing. Albedo was always straightforward with his words and yet you remained flustered every time he spoke his mind.

He beckons you to him and taps the lab table in front of him, "Come and sit." Your heart and mind races as you wonder what he has in store for you this time. You hoist yourself up onto the table, careful to not knock anything over. Albedo slots himself between your legs and look up at you, "I would like to check over your body and see if there have been any changes since the last time." With him between your legs like that, your poor pussy was throbbing for attention, "What should I do then?" His fingers reach for the hem of your shirt, "Lift up your arms."

Of course you obey, lifting your arms as Albedo removes your shirt and places it nicely behind you on the table. His eyes take in the cute lacy bra you chose to wear and he almost smiles as he looks back up at you, "Interesting choice..." If it weren't for the lilt in his voice, you would think he was mocking you. Albedo runs his fingers across the fabric, taking in the textured feeling, "I like this." You bite your lip, wanting more stimulation, "I wore it for you..." He raises an eyebrow at that, "Hmm..." He pauses for a second then speaks again, "Take it off."

Your breath catches at his words. He wasn't saying it in a domineering or demanding way, but the straightforwardness got to you once again. You undo the clasps on the back of the bra and let it fall forward, then set it aside. Albedo studies your breasts for a moment, intrigued with the way your nipples harden from the cold air that wisped through the entrance of the campsite. His gaze made you feel so aware of yourself. You wanted to cover up but he had his reasons for doing what he was doing and you didn't want to interfere if this was part of his study.

Albedo reaches forward and gently runs the pad of his thumb across your nipple, "Fascinating..." He gives your breast a gentle squeeze and moves his other hand to your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Your breathing picks up from the gentle stimulation and arousal begins to pool between your legs. Your reaction doesn't go unnoticed by him and he meets your eyes with a slight smirk.

Albedo doesn't say a word before he leans forward and captures your nipple in his mouth. You suck in a breath when he sucks and his tongue swirls around the sensitive bud. He gives a harsh suck before pulling away with a wet pop and looking up at you again, "How was that?" You gawk at him, trying to collect your thoughts to answer such a question, "...Good. It felt nice..." Albedo smiles slightly and pinches the wet nipple as he takes the other in his mouth, giving it the same treatment, then pulling back once again to admire his work.

He locks eyes with you for a moment, til he moves his gaze to your pants and gestures towards them, "Let's take these off as well." You lift your hips, allowing Albedo to pull off your pants and undergarments together. After setting those aside, he places his hands on your thighs and pushes them apart. Albedo kneels down, now eye-level with your glistening pussy. His focused gaze on your cunt makes you want to squirm and shut your legs.

Albedo takes his thumbs and spreads your pussy open; your hole so wet with your arousal and your clit felt needy for stimulation. He runs his finger through your slick and then looks to you, “All this just from a little bit of stimulation to your breasts?” He’s genuinely asking but the way he says it sounds again as though he’s mocking you. Your hole clenches around nothing from this and Albedo is quick to notice. A tiny smirk curls on his lips, “Did you like what I asked?”

His probing questions made you heat up in humiliation and pleasure and you simply nod. Albedo straightens up and makes a few notes in his notebook, leaving you bare and spread out on his table where anyone could walk in at any time if they chose to visit his campsite. He sets his notebook down and kneels down again. Albedo’s eyes search your half-lidded ones, “Let’s continue.”

Albedo presses his thumb down on your clit making you gasp, “Extra sensitive today…”, he mutters to himself. He sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, wetting then with his saliva before he pushes them inside of you, drawing a cute moan from your lips. His fingers pump in and out, curling up to your sweet spot which has your hands clutching his shoulders. Albedo removes his fingers, making you whine. He scissors his fingers in front of his face, watching with intrigue as your slick forms a clear string connecting his fingers, “Thicker than usual… Are you ovulating?”

The question catches you off guard and your eyes widen, “I.. um” You clear your throat awkwardly and speak quietly, “Yes..” Albedo’s eyes light up and you wish you had the power to read his mind. He collects your slick from his fingers and lets it drip and form a tiny puddle into a clear, circular sample container, “Good..very good.” He sets the container aside and spreads your fluttering pussy open once more. You let out a little mewl when his tongue prods at your hole. Your arousal coats his tongue as he eagerly laps it up.

His tongue makes it way to your sensitive clit, licking circles as he sucks it into his mouth with delighted hum. The vibrations added to the stimulation he was already giving you had you tangling your fingers in his fluffy blonde hair, "'Bedo.. fuck-" Your words morph to a cry of pleasure, your face scrunching up as Albedo's tongue increases it's rhythm. Your legs shake as you reach your end; the grip you have on his hair must be painful but he doesn't show it, too lost in the taste of you.

When your orgasm begins to subside, his eyes meet yours. His lips were shining with a mix of your arousal and his own saliva as he gives a gentle smile, "That was good, but I'm afraid I'm not done quite yet..." Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to regain your bearings and question him. The feeling of his fingers prodding your entrance has the haziness of your mind cleared right away, "Wait, Albedo-" Your words go ignored as his fingers push in and immediately curl up to that sensitive spot inside of you that has your vision going fuzzy and your mouth opens in a silent moan.

Albedo kept curling his fingers repeatedly as he pushed them inside of you, feeling great satisfaction when your pussy clenches around his fingers over and over. You feel a new kind of knot forming inside of you and your eyes snap open as you try to squirm away, "No, no, stop. I think I'm gonna-" But one final press up into that spot has you squirting. The clear liquid covers his hand, dripping down his wrist and down his forearm. Albedo has a wild look on his face, even managing to breathe out a satisfied chuckle, "Incredible..."

You whimper from overstimulation when he removes his fingers and brushes his thumb over your clit. You feel tingly and fuzzy, legs trembling slightly still when you hear the sound of clothes rustling. You blink a couple times and when you finally focus, Albedo is tugging his hardened cock and lining up with your spent hole. His turquoise eyes meet yours and he uses his free hand to caress your cheek, "Relax for me..." His gentle voice fills your head and you release a breath. Albedo gives a small smile, "Good girl."

He pushes his length inside your warm, wet walls with a breathy grunt. His eyes shut tight with focus as your pussy envelops his cock so perfectly. You reach for him, wrapping your arms around him and bury your face into the crook of his neck. The action has him smiling again and he presses a kiss to your temple, "I'm going to move now." You only whimper in response, clutching him tighter as Albedo begins to move his hips, still feeling greatly overstimulated from his previous work on you. His cock drags along your wet walls and he thrusts forward, hard. The tip bullying the deepest parts of you as he begins an overwhelming pace.

Albedo reaches under your thighs and holds them up with his arms as his balls slap against your ass with each thrust. The new position has him even deeper inside of you, an outline of his cock bulging against your lower abdomen. Albedo gets that wild look again when he sees, "Look how deep you take me. You're swallowing me up so well..." You look down, seeing the bulge move up and down as he fucks into you a little faster now. The sight makes you clamp down on his cock, his name falling so prettily from your lips.

He releases one of your legs, only to begin rubbing your clit in quick motions with the pad of his thumb, "Cum for me one more time, beautiful." With the feverish thrusts and the way he rubs at your clit, your eyes roll back and you let out the most beautiful sounding moan in his ear as you come undone for the third time. The increase of wetness from your cum fills the cave with lewd squelching and the slapping of skin and against skin.

Feeling the way your pussy flutters around his cock as he fucks your arousal back into you has him tumbling over the edge himself. With a particularly rough thrust, his hot cum fills you up. He desperately hopes its going straight to your womb. His spent cock pulsates inside you as he comes down from his high. Heavy breaths fills the space between you as you finally raise your head to look at him.

Albedo is enamored by the way you look; looking so fucked out and blissful. You expect him to remove himself from you, but he stays. You give him a questioning look, too tired to speak. Albedo just smiles softly at you, "Did I forget to mention the last part of my study?" He kisses your lips so sweetly then pulls back just enough that his lips still graze yours as he speaks in a husky tone and half-lidded eyes, "The final part of the study is to be sure that I can effectively reproduce."

˖⭒☾˳·˖✶ ˖⭒☾˳·˖✶ ˖⭒☾˳·˖✶ ˖⭒☾˳

a/n: baby daddy albedo?

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Blast to the past

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 15

Prompt: Time travel

Rated: T

CW: Mild blood and gore; Mild horror; Monsters

Tags: Steve Harrington whump; Magic; Time travel (duh); Royal Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington needs a break

Notes: Some days, you get up, think of nothing bad, and you check your phone and your artist buddy @house-of-the-moving-image has sent you the most incredible mini comic in the world and the brainworms go crazy and you bash out 990 words in a weird fugue. We mayyy have been screaming about this to each other a bit too excessively. It may have grown a back story. I may wanna write 100k of this. Help.

“Oh, Steven, let's go to Europe, they said,” Steve grouses. “There’s culture and shit, they said. We can visit the castles. It’ll be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, they said.” 

Well, it damn well is turning out to be one hell of an experience! 

His side is on fire, his ankle stings with every step he hobbles, and he’s starting to bleed through his clothes. Just what he needs! Leave a warm, coppery trail to lead these things right to him. 

While he drags himself down the dark corridor, he wonders if he can sue. The guides did warn against leaving the travel group, on the one hand. 

On the other, they should probably have detailed the possible consequences. Like getting lost in the ruins and being chased by monsters with rotting grey skin and maws full of fangs, and fucking claws that slice through clothes and skin like a knife through butter.

This kind of shit never happens in Hawkins. He’s never going on holiday with his parents again.

Something behind him clatters. When he whips around, the shadows at the end of the corridor move. He hears snarls and sniffing, the tick of claws against stone. They’re coming closer. 

“Shit,” Steve swears, forces himself to go faster, using one hand against the wall for support. “Shit, shit, shit, c’mon!” 

He doesn’t even know where he’s going, just that he needs to get away if he doesn’t want to be monster fodder. 

His fingers catch on something. 

There’s … a narrow doorway in the wall, half hidden by a tangle of thick vines. A sliver of silver light is falling through it. 

“What the-” 

Something behind him shrieks triumphantly. 

Steve doesn’t think for another second, just ducks through the doorway. 

He finds himself in a cavernous room, moonlight trickling in through arched windows. Right in the middle, on a dais, is a throne carved from solid stone. On it is a tall, hooded figure. 

Except that isn’t true. As his eyes adjust to the light, he realizes that the throne is covered in what looks like an old shroud, tattered and torn with age and vaguely human-shaped. It’s overgrown by more vines, like it has been here for a very long time. 

And that is the moment the monsters slam into the doorway behind him. 

He yelps and stumbles further into the room, trips on the first steps of the dais and lands square on his ass. The monsters snarl and snap at him, and for a blissful second, he thinks they won’t fit through the doorway. 

But then the first distorts its body like a snake’s jaw and squeezes through. Steve watches in horror as they trickle inside, surrounding the dais like a pack of feral dogs. One of them swipes at him with its claw, and he instinctively shuffles up the stairs, backwards and on all fours. The monster lunges after him-

-and hesitates at the foot of the dais.

Like it’s afraid, like there’s some invisible barrier. 

It’s only now that he realizes the steps are inlaid with an intricate pattern of symbols, shining in the moonlight like liquid silver. The monsters try to get at him, but every time they touch the symbols, they recoil as if burned. 

“Ha!” Steve’s mouth tugs into a hysterical grin. “Can’t cross, huh? Well, too bad, you ugly-” 

The largest of the monsters steps over the barrier. A sizzle of silver sparks runs over its form as it does and it jowls like an injured cat, but it still advances. Steve swears and skitters further back, until his back hits something solid. The throne. 

The creatures are moving slowly, like something is physically holding them back, but they are gaining on him inch by inch. There’s no escape, except … 

Steve clambers onto the throne with clumsy limbs. The shroud is cold and brittle under his hands and the vines tear into his bleeding skin, but it’s the only place he can still go. If the monsters are afraid of the dais, maybe the throne will be enough to deter them. Maybe he’ll be safe here, maybe he can wait until help arrives, maybe- 

And then it happens. 

A sound booms through the silence, rattles his bones. A sound like the chime of a clock. 

Then another. 

And another. 

Steve yelps and covers his ears, screws his eyes shut. The light of the sigils on the ground seems blinding all of a sudden. 

The creatures howl. 

And then everything goes quiet. 

Steve waits with baited breath for the feeling of claws tearing at his legs, but nothing happens. The snarls and growls are gone. 

Instead, birdsong fills his ears. The faint sound of footsteps and voices, hooves on cobblestone and the clang of metal against metal. Instead of dust and decay, the room suddenly smells like wood and smoke and forest. The light shining through his eyelids isn’t silver anymore, but golden. 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “The hell was all that?” 

“Oh, those?” somebody chuckles. Somebody very close by. “Those were wraiths. Scary little fuckers, aren’t they?” 

Steve swears his heart misses a beat. Because upon closer inspection, the roughness of the vines and shroud against his skin is gone. Instead, there’s a body under his, a hand running idly down his side, all the way down to his ass. He’s sitting in someone’s lap. 

Steve snaps his eyes open. There’s a guy looking back at him, a guy with a shit-eating grin set in a handsome, dimpled face, framed by a spill of dark curls. There’s a crown on his head. 

“Now what I’d like to know,” says the guy, and gives Steve’s ass a hearty squeeze. “Is what I did to deserve getting a pretty little thing like you dropped in my lap. Not that I’m complaining.” 

Steve does what any sensible person would do in his situation. 

He faints. 

And that’s his first encounter with King Edward the Banished. 

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

[steddieas-shegoes]

sometimes it's too real

for the @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 3 (prompt: Halloween) rated: T wc: 577 cw: some blood mentions (fake and real) tags: mention of Upside Down related trauma, hurt/comfort

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Eddie thought it was a funny joke, and it was.

Like, to all of the others, it was hilarious.

But to Steve, it was a reminder of how close they came to losing Eddie, how close they were to his heart actually stopping, his skin going pale.

He knew it was ridiculous, so he choked out a laugh and found a way to keep busy.

Snacks were mostly prepped, drinks already on ice, decorations hung with the help of Eddie and Robin.

But he could always find something to clean, and tonight's victim was the kitchen sink. Anything to avoid seeing the fake blood dripping from Eddie's mouth and neck.

He should have known it would only work for a few minutes, Eddie being basically attached to his hip ever since they made the whole boyfriend thing official.

Eddie's arms wrapped around his waist, his hands settled on Steve's stomach.

"I vant to suck your blooooood," Eddie said in a silly accent, nipping at Steve's neck.

Any other time, Steve would giggle and let him do it, let it lead to a kiss on the lips or more.

But he couldn't erase the image of Eddie coughing up blood as he tried to hold onto Steve as he was carried out of the Upside Down. He couldn't erase the way Dustin was sobbing next to him, how Robin was trying to hold it together so that Dustin didn't sense her panic.

He knew if he turned to see Eddie now, he wouldn't see his costume, he'd see him dying.

"You okay, sweetheart? Need any help?" Eddie asked, slowly pulling away when he sensed that Steve wasn't in the mood to be silly with him.

"Fine. You can go back out there."

"I will if you tell me what's bothering you," Steve could hear the crossed arms in his tone.

"Nothing, Eds. Just want everything to be perfect for the kids."

That was true, and he knew Eddie believed that, but he also knew it wasn't everything and Eddie would absolutely know that, too.

"Is it something I did?" Eddie asked.

Steve turned to him, finally looking at him and resisting the urge to flinch.

He must not have succeeded because Eddie was pulling away quickly.

"It's just. It's the blood. I know it's fake and I know it's stupid and this is supposed to be fun and a joke, but just seeing you with blood is a lot," Steve explained, hating himself more by the second for ruining Eddie's fun.

"Stevie, why didn't you say something before? I can wash it off," Eddie turned towards the sink to do just that when Steve reached his hand out to stop him.

"No, I-"

"Stevie, I am not letting you suffer your way through trauma if I can do something to help."

Steve didn't have any response to that, so Eddie continued to run the water until it was warm, and started splashing some onto his face and scrubbing the evidence of fake blood away.

"The kids..."

"I'll just tell them some got in my mouth when I took a drink and it tasted gross and didn't wanna risk it happening again. They won't care, they're on sugar highs already."

Steve still felt stupid for letting this bother him, but when Eddie wrapped his arms around him and leaned in to kiss him softly, reassuringly, he knew it was fine.

Maybe next Halloween it would be a little easier.

[chocotonez]

enhypen summer dates: pool parties

a/n: i like pool parties a lot :) !! enjoy!

summary: you go to a pool party with your lovely boyfriend and the rest of enhypen

cw/genre: fluff, cursing, crack/comedy, playful summer vibes, gn!reader and no descriptions of body other than tanning/sunbathing and briefly some body image themes in sunoo’s, and pls let me know if anything else should be tagged!

june 1k special masterlist here! -> (*☻-☻*)

heesung

-he only goes because you either really want to or the members really want him to come

-I can definitely see him trying to unwind with his Nintendo switch under the umbrella until Niki pops his head out and is like hehe heeyyyy

-the members practically drag him to the pool and depending on who you are you’re either sunbathing and enjoying yourself or helping in throwing Heesung into the pool!

-lots of him going “baaaaby they’re bullying me!!” throughout the day

-constantly reapplying sunscreen to ur face that’s just the law of the land

-probably complains a lot but secretly loves it because he gets to spend time with his second family <3

-HATES getting his hair wet at first he’s one of those people that r like “icky no stop I’m gonna get out if you splash me”

-gets hella competitive if there’s a splash fight tho like damn…dawg is full on SOAKING ppl!!

-is so cute tho especially if he notices you getting uncomfy cuz all the water in ur lungs LMAO, starts yelling at everyone and is being annoying like stop splashing or everyone’s going home!!

-always looks out for you and make sure you aren’t drowning <3

jay

-he goes because he wants to see his pretty partner enjoy themself, and also take a nap on the pool side while going snooozeeee but NOO

-wakes up to jungwon and sunoo SOAKING him and he’ll be scolding them but if you’re there he gets all soft :((

-DEMANDS you wear sunscreen and reminds you every ten minutes

-he’s like an old man “ooo the water so cold…”

-I love him.

-brings the best snacks and strictly follows the rules of not swimming after eating much to your + the members’ complaints

-lowkey would much rather be at the grill preparing dinner so he can keep an eye on everyone and including you!!

-probably helps you pick a super cute swim wear in advance too :(( watch you guys match omg

-has a “kiss the cook” apron entirely for you even though everyone else teases him for being on the grill during a pool party <3

-let’s you have first pick of food :) BUT NO FOOD IN THE POOL!!! >:T

jake

-playing mermaids with you or trying to drown NiKi who knows it depends on his mood

-Jake has a black and white tail and his mermaid powers would be singing and talking to animals yes yes yes

-is somehow full of energy the entire time

-jumps into the pool and falls on someone and has a lot of screaming probably but it’s ok!

-constantly lifts you out of the water and is like “FROM THE WAVES!!” And then drops you back down while giggling with a kiss on your cheek

-loves the games where you ride on his shoulders while you try to push another person

-he likes having you close to him to the point he drags you into the pool while giggling because you were completely dry and now here you are just in his arms and in da water!

-takes so many photos of you

-probably does really cheesy pick up lines and act like you guys aren’t in a happy relationship and everyone is cringing bcuz the entire pool party is just him being whipped for you <3

sunghoon

-loud introvert Sunghoon <3

-screaming in the corner of a pool while creating little waves to splash at anyone who comes too close to the little corner he dedicated to the two of u :>

-he loves scheming little pranks with u to randomly jump on other members or just scare them a little hehe

-spends most of his time messing with other people but he also cuddles with you on a little pool float

-the type of guy to huff and puff when his hair gets wet but immediately dgaf when he gets playful

-if you decide to relax on a pool float or at the poolside he’ll be your personal bodyguard and win a 6v1 to ensure your peace

-“if any of you mess w y/n prepare to face the might of the seas”

-probably the one to whine when it’s time to get out

-swims around and kisses your cheek every time he passes by you <3

-gets blushy and shy when the members tease him for being so whipped but he can’t help it, ur his person!!

-pretends like he didn’t act like an excited puppy all day once you two leave

sunoo

-has a designer floatie and some rubber duckies

-lounges with you on a pool float with matching sunglasses and is holding your hand

-intends to relax with you, reapplies your sunscreen for you every thirty minutes, make sure you’re well hydrated and enjoying yourself but he has the newest water gun model if his members decide to mess w him

-he is not here to play around!! if he’s tanning he will be tanning in peace and that water gun ensures it

-really good at water fights for some reason ?? I have no idea why I can just see him going absolutely crazy with water guns

-takes a bunch of photos of you because he thinks you look super cute all day!!

-loves to randomly splash members and then run away esp if you join in to assist

-nothing is funnier than seeing jay sputter because of a bunch of water sunoo splashed in his face while you two make your getaway to the other side of the pool

-hypes you up!! makes sure to show off to everyone how beautiful you are and how ur just such a stunner in your swimwear !!

-makes u feel like a boss bitch at the pool party no matter what, makes sure you enjoy yourself and have fun! :)

jungwon

-tried 9 times to calm down his members and gave up on the tenth

-does tiny little splashes to you so you don’t get super soaked and u don’t have any pain in ur lungs but when it comes to anyone else he’s summoning actual waves

-a water balloon gets thrown too far and hits a neighbor doing lawn work and so jungwon has to go apologize

-you were invited so jungwon wouldn’t scold the others too much <3 he can’t help but soften up the second he sees you

-“y/n, help me drown sunoo yeah?” w a little cute smile like he’s not scheming

-you really help him relax a lot!! he doesn’t feel like he has to be super stiff and in charge and he can just enjoy himself at a pool party

-constantly asks if you’re comfortable, too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry, he wants to make sure you’re having as much fun as he does

-you two have matching towels it’s just a fact

-pulls the leader card for you if you’re losing a water fight <3

niki

-“love come here let’s splash jake!!”

-has so much fun u don’t understand

-squares up w jake during chicken fights and he ensures you win no matter the cost

-the type to whine and complain at first saying he doesn’t feel like swimming but then gets really into it

-he messes w u too but just a lot less, no randomly coming up from behind to scare you while he makes sure to push his members under the water 💀💀

-brings ice treats for you to eat in the pool when jay isn’t looking

-probably gets you matching jewelry for the pool party just so he can feel extra close to u :)

-loves being in the water with you, so much so he will pull you off of your chair and into the water

-quietly asks if you’re having fun every now and then to make sure you’re ok!! because as much as he enjoys the pool day he would enjoy it 1000x more if you felt the same way

-probably takes a ton of selfies w u by the end of the day because he thought you looked so cute :(

•••

tag list: @chansburgah

[inkirasity]

The Other Variant of Her (2)

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

summary: Out of nowhere, Gwen Stacy appeared on your Earth, inviting you to the Spider Society in Nueva York. As you reluctantly took her offer, you were shown the beauty of every spider person around HQ. Meeting the founder of the group, Miguel O’Hara. You never knew him, but it seems that he does.

gn!reader, also a spider person

cw. angst, (kinda) ooc miguel o'hara, canon event (it happens), mentions of (multiple) deaths, violence, mentions of blood

words: 9.1k

first part

taglist: @a-helpless-romantic, @bozos-r-us @levisbebe @othersideoftheparadise, @nataliahemsworth

hi hello, this is the second part and the last! gotta say this was fun to write. it's currently 3 am and i have school later but gladly it starts at the afternoon so i can sleep for a bit^^, i think i went overboard with some stuff, canon events happened. hope you all enjoy this! and sorry if i could not tag the others who asked me to tag them. i promise, i tried. also typos cause i made this up until midnight so—

There was an undeniable connection between you and Miguel, but you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Ever since he recruited you, you found yourself spending a lot of time in his office. It didn't bother you, although it did disappoint you that you weren't getting as much action as the other Spider-People, like Gwen, Hobie, and Pav. Your friends seemed bothered by it, especially Hobie.

"Nah, mate. 'E's keepin' you to 'imself for some unknown reason. Got you locked up in 'is office since day one," Hobie would say whenever you stepped out of Miguel's office. Whether you were going to grab lunch or hang out with the others, if you didn't have any pressing business in Nueva York, you would return to your own world. But you never paid much attention to Hobie's concerns. You reassured him not to overthink it and mentioned that Miguel was treating you well.

Hobie would look at you with concern, urging you to be cautious. You wondered if Miguel had ulterior motives, given Hobie's warnings, but you also sensed there was something more to the situation. You didn't want to be suspicious of your own boss, so you decided to trust him, following his orders diligently and helping him sort through anomaly reports for the other Spider-People to handle, ignoring Hobie's persistent attempts to convince you otherwise.

In Miguel's dimly lit office, you found yourself sitting in a corner, engrossed in filing an anomaly report. Holding the pad in your hands, you read through the details and typed them into the screen. When you first started working on the anomaly reports with Miguel, you weren't particularly fond of the high-tech gadgets he used. You even admitted this to him, feeling a bit embarrassed considering your age should have made you more familiar with such devices.

"Well, the tech in my Earth isn't as advanced as this," you had once said to Miguel, using it as an excuse for your initial unfamiliarity with the gadgets.

Miguel glanced at you briefly before turning his attention elsewhere. "Yeah, yeah, Lyla," he called out.

Lyla materialized on your shoulder, causing you to jump slightly in surprise. "Yes?" she responded.

"Give them a pad—or anything they can use without complications," Miguel instructed, his focus now shifting to the floating screens in front of him. His fingers flicked effortlessly across the images that appeared.

"Alright," Lyla replied, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. "A 'please' would be nice."

Miguel scoffed, annoyed at the demand his AI was making. "Please," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Hah!" Lyla exclaimed, turning her attention to you with a smug grin. "Did you hear that, Slinger? This man actually said 'please'."

You could sense Miguel's irritation, accompanied by the frustrated tapping on the screens. With a snap of Lyla's fingers, a pad materialized out of thin air and floated towards you, coming to rest on your lap. Lyla glitched to appear in front of you, still wearing that mischievous smile. You couldn't help but find Miguel's AI both cute and commanding in her own unique way.

"Here, let me show you the basics," Lyla offered, ready to guide you through the functionalities of the pad.

"Slinger?"

A voice jolted you out of your reverie. You blinked and found a small, yellow figure hovering above your face, radiating concern. Startled, you took a sharp breath and tumbled off the metal seat you had been perched on.

"Oh no!"

"I'm okay! I'm okay," you reassured, hastily getting back on your feet and smoothing out any wrinkles on your suit—which luckily, there were none.

You turned your attention to Lyla, still a little disoriented. "What did you call me?"

Lyla tilted her head, her smile unwavering. "Your shift ended ten minutes ago—orrrr do you want to stay here?"

You glanced around the dimly lit room, the orange screens now powered down. It seemed Miguel had called it a day, without even bothering to inform you. You looked back at Lyla, contemplating her question. Shaking your head, you retrieved the pad from the floor and pressed a series of buttons until it deactivated.

"I need to go back to my Earth, unfortunately. I'll see you again, Lyla. Goodbye!"

Lyla nodded in acknowledgment before vanishing, the glow dissipating and leaving the room in darkness. With your mask securely in place, you walked towards the portal, similar to the one you had first encountered, that materialized behind you. Stepping through, you disappeared into the swirling energies, returning to your own world.

The portal dissipated as you stepped out, greeted by the familiar night sky of York New. You found yourself on the rooftop of an industrial building, hoping it was the one where your apartment was located. Shooting a web below, you gracefully leaped into the air, but to your disappointment, it wasn't your building. Undeterred, you continued swinging through the city, Kings, in search of your apartment. From above, you looked down and observed the bustling streets below. Despite the late hour, it still appeared as if it were a busy afternoon.

Finally, you spotted a familiar window and a smile formed on your face. It was your apartment. Shooting a web in its direction, you swung towards it with a sense of anticipation. Landing on the window ledge, you opened the window and entered, feeling a wave of relief. After removing your mask, you took a moment to catch your breath. It had been tiring, sitting in Miguel's office, working on anomaly reports as if you were his secretary.

"Boring? Maybe," you mused to yourself. In your civilian life, you also found yourself engrossed in reading and grading essays as a history professor at a nearby university. Reviewing your students' work, their projects, and conducting research has become a familiar routine.

"Home sweet home, I guess—"

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, interrupting your thoughts.

"Nevermind."

You hurried to the door, peering through the peephole. Your eyes widened when you saw three familiar faces standing outside, their masks nowhere in sight. Opening the door, you were greeted by Hobie's smirk.

"Took you too long."

"You literally just knocked a second ago—wait, wait, what are you guys doing here?"

"We just wanted to hang out with you, that's all!" Pav exclaimed, his smile radiating warmth.

"Word got around that your New York is different from ours," Gwen added, her hands tucked inside her jacket.

"Obviously it's different, considering you're in a different world. And it's York New," you chuckled, gesturing for them to come inside your cozy apartment. The entrance was adorned with stacks of university papers and photographs of your close friends and professors. It was a homey space that reflected your individuality.

"I literally just got home five minutes ago. Wait here, I'll get you three some drinks." You shot a web towards the fridge, pulled it open, and glanced at your friends. "What do you guys want?"

"Anything," Gwen replied.

"Do you have chai?" Pav inquired.

"I'll take any drink that'll burst my ass," Hobie chimed in, shrugging nonchalantly.

You squinted at Hobie, momentarily taken aback, "But if you don’t have one, anything really."

After preparing the drinks, you all settled down on the couch. Pav chose a bean bag beside you, sipping his drink, while Gwen leaned against the window, holding her cup. Hobie made himself comfortable on the couch, placing his drink on the table.

"So, you're a professor?" Gwen started, her gaze wandering over the pictures displayed around the apartment. "Seems like you really love what you do." she smiled at you warmly, and you laughed, unaffected by the slightly cluttered display of photographs featuring you and your students.

"I enjoy teaching," you replied. Hobie, engrossed in one of your student's essays, chimed in.

"I like your students," he interjected, his eyes skimming the words printed on the white pages.

"Thanks. I try to encourage them to think critically," you responded, appreciating Hobie's interest in your students' work.

"Say," you suggested, a glint in your eye. "Why don't I give you guys a tour of the place?"

The four of you swung in various directions, making stops at different shops to grab a bite and relax on one of the rooftops. It was a joyous bonding experience with the three, engaging in conversations while swinging through the chilly midnight air of Kings. As you hung on a web, a burger in your mouth, you observed Hobie swinging around with fries in his hand. Gwen and Pav were amazed in your world, even offering to fetch more snacks.

With your arms slightly numb from gripping, you headed to the rooftop where the pile of trash that you all had accumulated was located. Using your webs, you fashioned a makeshift trash bag and began collecting the refuse. Hobie joined you on the rooftop, lending a hand in the cleanup as you awaited Pav and Gwen's return.

“So, how’s stuff workin’ in his office?” he said, his back at you. He threw a soda in your way, you raised the trash bag to catch it. 

You shrugged, “Nothing really, it’s just the same work I do here all over again but about hero work.”

“Have you at least mentioned him to deploy you?” Hobie now looked at you, his mask was removed so you could see his face, “It’s disappointing that I couldn’t at least see you fight, Gwen told me she said you look cool.”

You chuckled, “Well I did mention it to him, though I couldn’t comprehend what he said so I never bother to ask again,” another trash into the bag, “If lucky, you might see how I fight like what Gwen told you.”

“I sure hope,” he then took the trash bag from you, his smile somehow radiating to you even though there was nothing, “you’re a nice person, I can see it in you.”

“Though you gotta select who to be nice with.”

“Hm? I didn't quite hear that.” you turned to him as you threw the last can into the trash bag Hobie’s holding.

He shook his head, “Nah, it’s nothin’,”

Gwen and Pav arrived, each holding plastic bags in both hands, indicating they had made quite a few purchases. Pav gracefully touched down on the concrete floor, making his way towards you and Hobie, while Gwen followed closely behind, wearing a small smile on her face.

“Hey guys we got this good looking food called Kare—” Pav was cut off when a portal opened behind him.

It’s him. It’s not even after 24/7 you got to see this man again.

Miguel emerged from the portal, clad in his signature streamlined costume. The suit predominantly featured a vibrant blue hue with striking red accents, although the intensity of the red seemed to overpower the color of his Spider-Suit, emitting a bright glow that even hurt your eyes. As was customary, Miguel appeared with his mask removed, revealing his disheveled, swept-back dark hair and the weariness etched across his striking countenance.

Though it was different this time; it was the first occasion you saw him wearing his mask.

On the other hand, you were only wearing a brown overcoat with your Spider-Suit still on because you didn’t bother to change when Hobie, Gwen, and Pav arrived in your apartment. You had planned to change into your comfortable clothes when you return to your apartment, but Miguel’s sudden appearance seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Seems that our little bonding ended too soon,” Hobie said, a tinge of disappointment heard from his voice.

Miguel disregarded Hobie as he made his way towards you. Each step seemed purposeful with a hint of exhaustion. His presence was commanding, his tall and muscular frame seeming to dominate the space around him.

Underneath his mask, you could sense the weariness etched onto his features. Lines of fatigue creased his forehead, you can imagine his eyes held a distant look, as if burdened by the weight of the world.

Your own expression shifted subtly, a mixture of concern and anticipation. There was an unspoken tension in the air, a sense that something significant was about to unfold. You tried to summon a warm smile to your lips, hoping to offer a sense of comfort in the midst of whatever Miguel was going through.

As he neared, his presence seemed to envelop you, almost overpowering in its intensity.

The silence hung heavy between you, pregnant with unspoken words and hidden emotions. In that moment, you could sense the weight of his struggles, the burden of his responsibilities. It was as if the room itself held its breath, waiting for the unspoken to be uttered.

“I sent you a signal earlier, why didn’t you pick up?” Miguel said with a sigh, you can hear his strained voice underneath the mask.

You bit your lip, shoot, you took it off and left it in your apartment, “...I left it in the apartment.”

You sheepishly smiled, Miguel let’s out a frustrated groan. His hands now in his hips as he looked down on you, somehow you could figure out that his eyes are furrowed based on the moving eye lenses on his mask. 

“Next time wear it always,”

You looked at him, confusrion print on your face. What does he mean by that? You are always in his office for anomaly reports and anomaly reports alone. Why is he demanding you to wear the ‘goober’ at all times when you are stranded in Nueva York.

Miguel sensed your confused state, “We have a big problem and I need you to be there, alongsides Gwen, Pav, and Hobie. You get to have your very first action mission that you kept bugging me about.”

"Hey, I just mentioned it once, and never again because of your busy ass!" you spat at him, frustration lacing your words. His response was a small sneer, his gaze shifting to the three friends who stood nearby.

“And you three, what are you doing in here?” Miguel crosses his hands on his chest, eyebrows furrowed at them.

Pav sheepishly smiled, deftly concealing the plastic bags that held tantalizing, steaming hot food. His hands moved with practiced ease, ensuring the delicious secret remained hidden from Miguel’s prying eyes. Gwen, standing nearby, appeared unperturbed by the situation, her cool demeanor untouched by Pav's stealthy actions and Miguel’s demandful question. Meanwhile, Hobie casually leaned against the railings, skillfully employing a strand of web to secure the trash bag, demonstrating his resourcefulness and adaptability.

“Just visiting them,” Hobie said, throwing the trash in the air as it landed in the dumpster, “nothing more.”

“Lo que sea, get in.”

Without any time to spare, Miguel entered the portal, followed by Gwen. The plastic bags she was carrying were now handed over to Pav, who gave you a questioning glance, unsure of what to do with the food. It would be a waste to throw it away.

"I'll bring it back to the apartment," you smiled at him.

Miguel's words hit you like a punch to the gut, filling you with a deep sense of worry. As he explained the anomaly outbreak and the appearance of two anomalies in your Earth, your mind raced with concern for your students. Thoughts of their safety consumed you, and the weight of responsibility settled heavily on your shoulders. You remembered that they have ushered you to come with them as a bonding with the class before they graduate.

"The kids—my class, they will be in the vicinity where the anomalies appeared," you uttered, the worry evident in your voice. You couldn't help but imagine the potential dangers they might face, the chaos and uncertainty that awaited them.

Miguel's reassuring presence did little to ease your anxiety. While you appreciated his determination to ensure everyone's safety, the fear for your students gnawed at your insides. Their well-being became your top priority, and you silently vowed to do whatever it takes to protect them.

He gave you and the three instructions, you and Hobie are to scout the premises. Gwen, Pav, and Miguel are to find the two anomalies wandering around the streets of YNC. Your eyes glued on your phone, the bubble text from your advisory class president was chatting you in your group chat. She told you that they will be visiting a museum in an hour, they are using the university’s bus.

“They will be alright,” Hobie came up to you and place his hand on your shoulders, “It’s the five of us against two.”

“I don’t know Hobie—I—I hope so.” you placed your phone down on the ground where your things were placed. Since you and Hobie are scouting, it makes sense that you two will be on top of the buildings. After you gave the coordiates of your advisory class’ bus to Gwen, it did not took look for her to place a tracker on the bus as Lyla sent you a map that show’s where you students are.

“Stay focused, we found Kingpin—Green Goblin is still on the loose. Look out for him.”

Miguel’s voice static from the earpiece you and Hobi share. You and Hobie looked at each other and nod, you swing to another building and surveyed.

“Move.”

You followed, Hobie stayed before following you. You both swing around York New to meet up with Miguel. Gwen and Pav were still trying to find Green Goblin as Miguel surveyed the area and pressing buttons on his hologram.

“How’s everything?” you asked, landing next to Miguel.

“Not so good, Goblin is still in hiding.”

"If you don't mind, I'll go and help Pav and Gwen," Hobie declared, his voice filled with coolness. Without waiting for a response, he swiftly swung past you and Miguel, disappearing into the distance before Miguel could even protest.

You stood at the edge of the building, your gaze focused on the city below. The urgency weighed heavily on your shoulders as you turned to face Miguel.

“Y’know nothing is going to happen when we stand here, right? He's out there causing havoc and endangering innocent lives. We can't let him get away with it.”

Miguel, clad in his futuristic suit, looked back at you from his hologram. He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“I know. We're doing everything we can to locate him. But we need to be cautious. Green Goblin is dangerous, and he won't hesitate to attack us.”

“I understand the risks, Miguel, but I can't just stand by and watch.”

Miguel's voice broke through the solemn air, his words laced with genuine concern and a deep sense of responsibility. As he stood by your side, his gaze locked with yours, you could see the sincerity in his eyes. His words resonated within you, soothing the pain and reminding you that you were not alone in this fight.

“You’re a good person, Slinger," Miguel began, his voice steady and reassuring. "But remember, we're a team. We'll find him together, and when the time comes, we'll take him down. Your safety is important to me."

“I appreciate your concern, Miguel, but I can handle myself. I've faced villains before, and I won't back down now. I have to protect this city, protect the people who call it home.”

Before he could utter a word, you unleashed a volley of webs,  ensnaring Miguel's limbs and slowing his movement. You know he will chase you down and stop you. You won’t let him. With unwavering confidence, you leaped off the edge of the building, soaring through the cityscape of York New. The wind whipped against your mask, heightening your senses and sharpening your focus.

“Green Goblin spotted in Brooklyn Bridge!”

You heard Pav from the ear piece, following a sound of bomb from a place. Immediately you went to the place Pav has mentioned. The bridge was almost in shambles, you saw the three swinging towards the bridge and scoped everyone as they could. Without any question, you immediately went towards the bridge, grabbing any citizen you could see and place them from a safest place. 

There were falling debris from the bridge, you tried to use your webs as much as you can to stop its fall, taking the other people out of the way. Then, you heard a scream—multiple screams.

No.

You turned your head from the screams’ direction, a university bus was hanging at the edge of the bridge. The logo familiar to you, it was the university’s logo where you work at—and you knew who are the ones using it on summer break.

"NO!" Your heart pounded in your chest as you sprinted towards the plummeting bus, the desperate cries of your students echoing in your ears. Without a moment's hesitation, you extended your arms, shooting out a long, sturdy web that latched onto the side of the bus, halting its descent. The sheer weight of the vehicle strained against your webbing, threatening to overpower you.

Gritting your teeth, you summoned every ounce of strength within you, muscles tensing as you fought against the force. Inch by inch, you managed to slow down the bus's fall, but it continued to drag you closer to the perilous edge. Panic surged through you, but you refused to yield. With a fierce determination, you quickly fired another web, this time securing it to a nearby wall, providing additional support. The combined strength of your webs and your unwavering resolve prevented the bus from plummeting any further, as you held on with all your might, muscles trembling with strain.

Then a—

SNAP!

The web strained under the immense weight of the bus. With a sickening snap, the web gave way, releasing the bus from its temporary suspension. The screams of your students pierced through the air, intensifying the sense of dread that clenched at your chest. In a split second decision, you made a daring choice. 

Letting go of the remnants of the web, you launched yourself into the open air, hurtling downwards alongside the falling bus. Time seemed to slow as you descended, the rush of wind roaring in your ears. The ground rushed closer and closer, and then, with an earth-shattering impact, the bus crashed onto the unforgiving cement floor beneath the towering structure of the Brooklyn Bridge.

The scene was filled with chaos and destruction, the sound of bending metal and shattering glass echoing in the aftermath of the crash. Your heart pounded in your chest as you assessed the wreckage, the safety of your students weighing heavily on your mind.

Time seemed to blur as you landed on the unforgiving concrete floor, your heart pounding in your chest. Panic surged through your veins as you sprinted towards the mangled wreckage of the bus. Each step felt like an eternity, your mind filled with a flurry of worries and desperate pleas.

"Nonononononono," you repeated in a frantic mantra, taking off your mask. Your voice tinged with fear and urgency. The sight that greeted you was one of devastation. The bus, now a twisted metal heap, was surrounded by debris and scattered belongings. Smoke billowed from the wreckage, the acrid scent filling the air.

"Guys?" you called out with desperation in your voice, the shortness of breath betraying the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Each word escaped your lips with a sense of worry.

"Guys! It's me, Professor History— please respond!" Your voice echoed through the wreckage, a hollow plea bouncing off the twisted metal and shattered glass strewn across the floor. The sound of your fists pounding against the bus added a percussion of desperation to the chaotic scene. Your heart raced, fear clawing at your chest as you anxiously awaited any sign of life from within the mangled wreckage.

The deafening silence hung heavy in the air, engulfing the scene in an eerie stillness. There were no screams, no signs of life emerging from the twisted wreckage of the bus. Just an unsettling quietness that seemed to amplify the weight of the situation. Your heart sank, a knot of dread forming in the pit of your stomach. You strained your ears, hoping against hope to hear even the faintest whimper or stirring, but there was nothing. It felt as if time itself had frozen, trapping you in this moment of agonizing uncertainty.

No screams, nothing but a quiet sound.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as the weight of the tragedy settled upon you. A mixture of anguish and grief washed over you, threatening to engulf your entire being. Your body trembled with sorrow, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to contain the overwhelming emotions within you.

Each tear that streamed down your face carried the weight of the lives lost. Your students oh your loving students, their dreams shattered, and the futures cut short. The pain in your heart felt unbearable, as the realization of the magnitude of the tragedy consumed you. It was a deep ache that resonated through your entire being, leaving you feeling hollow and broken.

With shaky hands, you reached out to touch the cold, lifeless metal of the bus, your fingers tracing the dented surfaces. The shattered glass beneath your feet served as a cruel reminder of the shattered hopes and dreams of the students who had once filled these seats. Your sobs echoed in the emptiness around you, a heart-wrenching sound that seemed to reverberate through the desolate scene.

In that moment, you mourned not only the loss of their lives but also the loss of the bright futures they had ahead of them. Each tear that fell was a testament to the deep love and care you held for your students, their absence leaving an irreplaceable void in your heart.

As the tears streamed down your face, they carried a profound sense of loss and a desperate longing for the impossible—to turn back time and rewrite the tragic outcome. But all you were left with was the haunting silence and the painful reality of their absence.

The echoing laughter of the Green Goblin cut through the silence, its sinister tone reverberating in the air like a chilling reminder of the villain responsible for this devastation. The sound pierced through your grief, igniting a surge of anger within you.

Wiping away your tears with a trembling hand, you turned your gaze towards the source of the laughter. Your eyes burned with a fiery determination, fueled by the pain and loss you had just experienced. The sight of the Green Goblin standing amidst the wreckage, his grinning visage masked by madness, only served to intensify your resolve.

“You,” you said in gritted teeth, “you won’t escape from what you’ve done!”

You extended your arms and shot a web at one of the upper walls, propelling yourself forward to chase after Green Goblin. The echoes of his maniacal laughter reverberated in your ears, fueling a burning rage within you. The sound was like a taunt, a challenge that you were more than ready to accept.

As you swung through the city, your web-slinging skills guided you with precision and speed. The wind rushed past you, whipping through your mask. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins, as you closed the distance between you and the malicious villain.

Every fiber of your being was consumed by the desire to bring him to justice, to put an end to his reign of chaos and protect the innocent lives he threatened. The memories of your fallen students fueled your determination, driving you forward even when your body ached and your muscles screamed for respite.

There was sound of scratching static in your ears, “Slinger! Don’t go alone and chase him, he’s too dangerous you—”

You ripped off your earpiece, consumed by an overwhelming wave of rage. It didn't matter which version of Green Goblin this person was. They had taken the lives of your students, the very people who brought light and happiness to your world. They were the reason you fought, the reason you donned the mask and took on the responsibility of protecting others. The weight of grief and anger propelled you forward, fueling your determination to bring this villain to justice.

You followed Green Goblin through the twisting alleys and towering rooftops, determination coursing through your veins. The air whipped against your mask as you maintained a safe distance, observing his every move. Your heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and anticipation, knowing that this encounter would be anything but ordinary.

Green Goblin spun around, catching sight of your presence. His crazed laughter filled the air as he leaped onto his glider, propelling high above the cityscape. Without a moment's hesitation, you shot your webs, swinging through the sky in pursuit.

The battle unfolded in a chaotic symphony of punches, kicks, and explosive projectiles. You danced through the air, agile and nimble, dodging Green Goblin's relentless attacks with a mixture of acrobatics and web-slinging finesse. Each swing and flip showcased your formidable skills, a testament to the hours of training you had devoted to honing your abilities.

But the Green Goblin was a force to be reckoned with. His strength and speed were unmatched, and his relentless assault began to take its toll. Blow after blow rained down upon you, sending shockwaves of pain throughout your body. Your vision blurred, and your movements slowed as fatigue threatened to overtake you.

Blood trickled down your face, mingling with the sweat beneath your mask. You tasted the metallic tang of it on your lips, a reminder of the brutal reality of the fight. The pain was excruciating, but you refused to let it break your spirit. You were a fighter, a symbol of resilience, and you would not back down.

Not when after they died.

With every ounce of remaining strength, you launched yourself into a final assault. Your fists and webs became a blur of motion as you fought back with everything you had. Your strikes connected, and Green Goblin staggered, momentarily disoriented. It was a fleeting opportunity, and you seized it with unwavering determination.

But Green Goblin was not so easily defeated. With a vicious snarl, he retaliated with newfound ferocity. His blows came faster and harder, each one landing with bone-jarring force. You felt the impact reverberate through your body, weakening your stance with each strike. Your energy waned, and your body screamed in protest.

As the battle raged on, your movements grew sluggish, your responses delayed. You fought to stay on your feet, but the relentless assault pushed you to the brink of exhaustion. It felt as though every ounce of strength was drained from your body, and the world around you blurred into a haze.

In a final, devastating blow, Green Goblin sent you hurtling through the sky. Pain ripped through your body as you spiraled downwards, the ground rushing up to meet you. Your vision faded, darkness encroaching upon your consciousness. The mask that concealed your identity became stained with your blood, a testament to the brutal beating you had endured.

As unconsciousness claimed you, you clung to the hope that you had given it your all.

Strong hands swiftly catch you as you teeter on the edge of consciousness, their grip providing a lifeline in your exhausted state. You couldn't discern the identity of your savior; your weariness was too profound to make sense of the details. With a profound sense of relief, you surrender to the enveloping darkness, allowing it to claim you as the pain in your battered body gradually subsides.

Miguel landed with a controlled grace on a nearby rooftop, cradling your limp body in his arms. Worry surged through him as he beheld your battered form. Gingerly, he reached up and removed your mask, revealing the extent of the damage inflicted upon you. Your face bore the marks of the brutal encounter, streaked with blood and adorned with dark bruises that marred your once serene features. The sight stirred a mixture of emotions within Miguel—worry and anger.

He told you to stay—don’t go. How could you disobey simple rules?

“Miguel,” Jessica’s voice was heard from his earpiece, “He is captured, we’re taking him back—how are they?”

“Beaten up, round up the others and call for backup to clean up the mess the anomalies made.”

“Copy.”

You groaned and slowly regained consciousness, your eyes fluttered open to reveal your surroundings—a futuristic clinic that emanated a sense of advanced technology and sleek efficiency.

The room was adorned with clean, white walls, illuminated by soft, ambient lighting that cast a gentle glow. The air was infused with a sterile freshness, carrying the faint scent of antiseptic agents. The medical equipment and monitors present were state-of-the-art, seamlessly integrated into the surroundings with their sleek design.

The furniture was ergonomic and minimalist, offering both comfort and functionality. The room exuded an atmosphere of professionalism and cutting-edge medical care, assuring you that you were in capable hands within this futuristic healthcare setting.

As you slowly sat up on the bed, a wave of memories washed over you, reminding you of the intense battle with Green Goblin and the person who had saved (probably Miguel) you from the brink of falling.

The pain in your body served as a stark reminder of the brutal encounter, but you couldn't help but marvel at the resilience that had allowed you to survive.

With a deep breath, you swung your legs off the edge of the bed. Thankfully your spidersuit was placed on a white couch, looking good as new.

Still, you have not moved on from what had happened to your students, their deaths too soon for you. 

You shake your head, you need to talk to Miguel and the others at least. Ask them what will be the fates of the anomalies, did they even catched Green Goblin. You sure hope they did.

You stepped out of the clinic, your body now clad in your trusted spider suit. As you made your way through the headquarters, you couldn't help but notice the bustling activity of fellow spider people. They moved with agility and purpose, their suits adorned with variations of the iconic spider emblem.

The HQ itself was a sprawling complex, a sanctuary for those who shared your mission of protecting the multiverse. The sound of spinning webs and the occasional hum of futuristic technology filled the air, creating an atmosphere of innovation and readiness.

Walking through the corridors, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unity among your spider brethren. The shared purpose and camaraderie were palpable, evident in the nods of acknowledgment and encouraging nods exchanged as you passed fellow spider people in the hallways.

Finally, you arrived at Miguel's office, the dimly lit room casting an air of mystery. The dominant color scheme of deep blue added to the aura of secrecy and focused intent. The office was sparsely furnished, with only a floating platform holding an array of futuristic gadgets and tools that Miguel relied on for his work.

You missed being here for some reason.

You saw most of the people you knew; Jessica, Gwen, Hobie, and Pav. You rarely speak to Peter, but somehow he is not here despite being around using Mayday to annoy Miguel.

Speaking of Miguel, again, he is on the platform—he used his infamous pose of putting his hands on his waist and looking dismayed or tired. 

You approached the platform, marveling at the advanced technology before you. The devices emitted a soft glow, their intricate designs hinting at their incredible capabilities. You knew that within this unassuming office, Miguel planned and strategized to keep the multiverse safe from threats.

Hobie first noticed your arrival, a face of relief when he saw you walking well and alright. You waved at him, pointing at Miguel, indirectly asking Hobie what the hell is the man muttering about. The punk just shook his head, no idea what was happening with Miguel.

When Gwen saw you, she immediately went to you and tried to assist you. You brushed her off, telling her that you are alright and in no need of assistance. You looked back at the platform where Miguel is whispering words in a language you can't understand.

You shoot a web at the rim of the platform and swing on it, landing besides Miguel. You spoke, "Hey, what happened—

You felt a sharp jolt as Miguel's strong grip closed around your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin. His expression was a stark contrast to the usual calm and composed demeanor you were accustomed to seeing. Anger and frustration etched across his face, transforming his features into a portrait of intensity.

His piercing gaze bore into yours, demanding your attention. The air around you seemed to thicken with the weight of his emotions, leaving you momentarily speechless. His grip was firm, almost unyielding, a physical manifestation of his urgency and concern.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he spat, his voice laced with venom. Every word dripped with anger, lashing out like a whip, leaving no room for argument or explanation.

You could sense the depth of his emotions, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders. It was evident that he had been consumed by fear and frustration during your absence, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. In his eyes, your actions had placed yourself in unnecessary danger, and he was not about to let it go unnoticed.

"I told you specifically to not chase him," his grip tightened around your wrist, you winced, "and you have the guts to fucking remove your earpiece." he growled, his voice low and menacing.

His rage was a tempest, consuming everything in its path. You could see the frustration on his face, twisted by a fiery wrath that threatened to engulf him.

His grip on your wrist was almost painful, his fingers digging into your flesh, marking you with his wrath. It was as if his touch alone could convey the depth of his fury, a physical manifestation of the storm raging within him.

You could feel his anger seeping into your own veins. You met his gaze, refusing to be cowed by his fury. "I had to do something, Miguel. I—"

But then his grip tightened further, his anger flaring up once again. "You're reckless! You think you can just charge headfirst into danger without considering the consequences?"

His eyes bore into yours, a mixture of rage and concern simmering beneath the surface. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of understanding, a glimmer of recognition that you were both driven by a shared purpose, even if your methods differed.

"They died, Miguel! I saw them die right before my eyes, I couldn't even erase their screams in my head." you tried to wriggle your wrist from his iron grip, but it seems to tighten even more when you try to move it.

"And you chased him down, for yourself. Beaten up by him almost to pulp—what for?" his grip on you did not lose. You were now trying hard to get out from his grip, even pulling all of the strength to your body so he could let you go.

He did not.

"Miguel—you're hurting me, let go!"

"No, you need to know your lesson!"

"Stop! Please—it hurts—let me go! You're hurting me!" you cried, your free hand getting a grip on his hand and clawing it, hoping that he would let go.

None of the people below you and Miguel tried to stop, Hobie could not stand it and spoke, "You heard them, let them go—"

“¡Hobie, cierra el pico!” 

Miguel's voice erupted in a furious shout, silencing Hobie. At the peripheral of your vision, you could see Hobie gripping his guitar. His face evident of annoyance and rage towards Miguel.

Miguel's head turned towards you, you couldn't escape the intensity of his raging crimson eyes. They bore into you with a searing anger, as if trying to carve into your very being. His contorted face twisted with pure rage, a sneer curling his lips as he unleashed his pent-up fury upon you.

"Did you just realize what you've done? YOU COULD'VE DIED!"

Miguel's voice thundered through the room, reverberating with a mix of anger, frustration, and concern. His eyes blazed with an intense fury, their crimson hue piercing into your very core.

His features contorted, his jaw clenched tightly, and his fists were tightly balled up, knuckles white with the force of his grip. Every muscle in his body seemed taut with rage as he confronted you, his normally composed demeanor shattered by the magnitude of his emotions. The air crackled with an electric tension, emphasizing the gravity of the situation and the depth of his anger.

"Please—let go—I can fight for mysel—"

"I'm doing this for you, mi vida!"

There was silence.

A deafening silence that enveloped the room, leaving you and Miguel unable to utter a single word. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, filling the space with an uncomfortable tension. Even the onlookers below the floating platform seemed frozen, their eyes wide and mouths agape with disbelief etched across their faces. They witnessed the scene in front of them had already been unfolding. No creases left.

Time seemed to stand still, each passing second accentuating the absence of any sound.

Miguel's furious expression slowly transformed, his features transitioning from anger to a dawning realization, and finally to regret. As his grip on your wrists loosened, you instinctively snatched your hands away, the sting of his earlier aggression still lingering. Confusion and hurt washed over you in waves.

How could this man have mistaken you for someone else all this time? How could he have harbored such rage without truly seeing who you were? The questions echoed in your mind, a mix of frustration and sadness intertwining as you struggled to make sense of it all.

"I—" Miguel's voice trailed off as he reached out towards you, his face etched with a mixture of remorse and apology.

But you were not ready to accept his words, not after everything that had transpired. You held your sore wrists where Miguel's grip had left its mark, the pain serving as a reminder of his unwarranted aggression. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any joy or amusement.

"You're out of your mind," you said, your voice laced with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "All this time, you've been thinking of someone who is not me, Miguel. I am not the person you think I am. I am not who you want me to be. I am not yours."

The words cut through the air, sharp and final. The sneer on your face revealed the layers of disappointment and hurt that lay beneath the surface. You leaped off the platform, swiftly accessing the controls on your watch. Fingers swiftly tapping the buttons, you entered the coordinates for Earth-14215, a world where you would no longer be burdened by Miguel's misconceptions.

The portal shimmered behind you, its ethereal presence beckoning you towards new possibilities. With a determined resolve, you unclasped the watch from your wrist and hurled it in Gwen's direction. The small device sailed through the air before landing safely in her outstretched hand.

"Thanks for the pass, Gwen."

As you stood there, your gaze fixed on the portal's swirling energy, it was time to go home.

With a steady step forward, you crossed the threshold, your body engulfed by the portal's radiant glow. As you disappeared into the other side, you left behind Miguel's office, leaving behind the remnants of a past that no longer served you.

You had made up your mind. You were done. You weren't coming back.

It was a rainy night in York, you scouted from the rooftops of the buildings. You have taken care of the criminals and threw them into jail. It's been three hours since you left, a particular white spiderman suit kept following you around and kept interrupting your hero work by helping you, without you even asking for help.

And it irritates you to the bone.

Despite her attempts to explain Miguel's situation and offer her help, you remained steadfast in your determination to handle things on your own. 

With each interrupted battle, your frustration grew. The rain-soaked streets mirrored the storm brewing inside you. You had no patience for Gwen's persistent interference, dismissing her explanations as irrelevant. Your focus remained fixed on protecting your city and carrying out your duties as Spider Slinger.

Together, you and Gwen swung through the rain-soaked night, a reluctant duo bound by their shared commitment to protect the city. 

"Please, listen to me!" Gwen shouted from the thunder.

"I think what you said is enough, Gwen." you replied, shooting webs by webs on each building to continue your swing.

"But—"

"You can’t patronize his shit Gwen, you’re out of there, I’m out of there too—and that is his problem not ours to fix, now please get out of my Earth before I change my mind.”

Your words dripped with a mix of frustration and defiance as you confronted Gwen. The rain continued to fall around you, adding an extra layer of intensity to the situation. You were determined to assert your independence and distance yourself from Miguel's issues, refusing to be dragged into his problems any longer.

The weight of your words hung in the air, a clear message that you had no intention of tolerating Gwen's attempts to explain or justify Miguel's actions. This was not your burden to bear, and you were unwilling to let it consume you any further. You wanted Gwen gone, back to her own Earth, and you made it clear that any hesitation on her part would not be tolerated.

The sound of a thwip followed by the distinct noise of a portal opening and closing confirmed that Gwen had indeed departed. A sense of relief washed over you as you realized she had respected your wishes and chosen to honor your decision. Despite the tension and disagreement, there was a flicker of gratitude within you for her understanding.

In the aftermath of her departure, the rain continued to fall, its rhythm a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. The weight of the night's events still lingered, but a newfound sense of clarity settled upon you. You were now free to continue your work without the unwanted interference.

You landed on another building, until a familiar sound of a portal opening and closing. With a groan, you spoke with pure annoyance, "Gwen, were you not listening to me or—"

"It's me," a familiar voice resonated through the darkness, cutting through the rain-soaked air. The voice that you don't want to hear anymore

"I'm sorry," Miguel's voice cracked with emotion, the weight of his words heavy in the air.

"I acted out of anger, and I took it out on you. I had no right to hurt you, to hold you so forcefully. It was a terrible mistake, and I deeply regret my actions." His voice trembled with sincerity, carrying the weight of genuine remorse.

"Please know that I never intended to cause you harm. I let my rage consume me, and I failed to see the truth in front of me. I'm truly sorry for the pain I've caused you."

Miguel's voice quivered as he began to recount his haunting past, his words laden with deep sorrow.

"I once pretended to be a husband and a father, creating a false life, taking the place of my variant self. I was unaware of the consequences, the irreversible damage I was causing to the dimension where I didn't originally exist. As the universe disintegrated around me, I witnessed the gradual disappearance of my wife and child, their existence fading from my arms."

His voice choked with grief, a profound sadness seeping through every word. "The weight of that loss, the pain of realizing the lives I had unknowingly destroyed, it haunts me every day. I can't erase the pain I've caused, and for that, I carry an immeasurable burden of remorse."

"You just looked like her."

You looked at him, both standing there, drenched in the relentless rain, facing each other on the desolate rooftop of one of York New's industrial buildings. The downpour mirrored the storm of emotions brewing inside you. A heavy silence descended upon the scene. The weight of the moment left you paralyzed, unsure of how to respond. Despite ten years of being Spider Slinger, and all the years you spent as an individual, you had never quite grasped offering comfort, let alone to a man burdened with deep-seated issues in expressing his feelings.

Time seemed to stand still as both of you remained motionless, locked in a poignant tableau. His slow, deliberate breaths were visible, each exhalation a testament to his inner turmoil. His head hung low, weighed down by the shame of what he had done to you in Nueva York. The rain continued to soak your hair, an icy reminder of the vulnerability you had exposed by removing your mask. The regret tinged your thoughts, but it was necessary for him to witness the anger and disappointment in your eyes. He needed to understand the pain caused by his mistaken belief that you were his deceased wife.

"Then?" you spoke, your voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and resolve. "Why are you even here? You have responsibilities, a busy man. There's no place for you here on my Earth anymore, Miguel."

The bitterness in your words left a bitter taste in your mouth, a reflection of the deep-rooted resentment that simmered within. You watched as he slowly raised his head, his mask dissipating to reveal his face. His sad eyes locked onto yours, piercing through the rain-soaked air. Your harsh words seemed to pierce his chest, evoking a pang of pain even though you were practically strangers. He knew you weren't her, that you were merely a variant of his wife, someone different who didn't share the memories his wife had cherished. You had never shared a life with him, never bore a child together. The absence of even a variant of himself in your Earth accentuated the anguish. It explained why you hadn't reacted when you first encountered him.

Because, in truth, this was your first meeting with Miguel O'Hara.

You were not her, and you were never meant to be his.

"In conclusion, I'm very sorry," he choked out, his voice filled with remorse and self-reproach.

Miguel's words hung heavy in the air, as if echoing the weight of his guilt. He bit his lip, feeling a sharp sting in his eyes. A lump formed in his throat, making it difficult to utter another word. After the incident, he had vowed to himself to bury all personal feelings, to become cold and detached, forsaking any attachments. But seeing you shattered his resolve. The similarities between you and his wife were too painful to bear. In that moment, he longed for the return of both his wife and daughter, even if his actions were irreversible, even if it was an impossible yearning.

"You look pathetic," you couldn't resist the urge to lash out, to release the pent-up tension building within you. The words spilled out, dripping with spite, driven by the turmoil in your heart. You wanted to hurl more insults, to wound him further, but a sliver of conscience held you back. Three words, a petty attempt to inflict some of the pain you felt.

"I know," he replied, his voice cracking under the weight of his sorrow. The rumble of thunder and the relentless patter of rain almost masked his stifled sniffles.

You knew you shouldn't be doing this, that it went against your better judgment, but...

You took a tentative step towards him, narrowing the distance between you. Looking up at him, you saw the confusion etched on his face as you approached. He understood your anger, comprehended the reasons behind it. What startled him, though, was when you reached out, gently cradling the back of his head against your shoulder. The warmth of your embrace enveloped him, a fragile lifeline amidst the tempest of emotions. Both of your arms encircled his neck, one hand resting tenderly on his head, offering a semblance of solace—the only way you knew how.

Gradually, Miguel's rigid body softened, his arms finding their way around your back as he clung to you, afraid to let go. The two of you sank down onto the wet concrete floor, the rain serving as a backdrop to his muffled sobs against your Spider suit. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, an unspoken understanding that sometimes comfort could be found in the arms of a stranger, in the midst of a storm that mirrored the tumult within your souls.

Your fingertips grazed through Miguel's damp hair, feeling the raindrops clinging to each strand. The rain-soaked air enveloped both of you, lending a sense of melancholy to the moment. As his arms encircled you with a delicate touch, you sensed his hesitance, his fear of upsetting you further. Despite the limited time you had spent together, it seemed that Miguel had placed his trust in you completely. From his role as an authority figure to exposing his vulnerability, he had laid it all bare before you.

There was an unspoken understanding between you, a connection forged in the midst of chaos and shared experiences, a bond that transcended mere acquaintanceship. And though words eluded you in that moment, the warmth of your touch conveyed the unspoken support and acceptance you offered him.

"You know, I have not forgiven you." you said.

Miguel lifted his head, revealing a visage stained with tears. His cheeks were flushed, a testament to the emotional turmoil he had endured. His eyes, once vibrant, now appeared weary and disheveled. The traces of sadness etched upon his features spoke volumes of the pain he had carried within. In that vulnerable moment, his raw emotions were laid bare, allowing you to witness the depth of his sorrow and exhaustion.

"How can I?"

You looked at him, your expression softening as you observed Miguel. His face was marked with signs of weariness, evident from the redness in his eyes and the disheveled state of his hair. It was clear that he had been through a lot, and despite the tumultuous situation, he mustered the courage to face you.

There was a certain vulnerability in his gaze, a plea for understanding and forgiveness. In that moment, you realized that perhaps he truly wanted to make amends and find a way to earn your trust. With a small, gentle smile, you conveyed your willingness to give him a chance, to see if he could prove himself worthy of your faith.

You pressed a finger on Miguel's chest where his heart is beating.

"We start from here."

[concretejunglefm]

Poltergeists: Chapter 14.

Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 6, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 9, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Bonus Chapter

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader, Nicholas Ruffilo x Reader, possibly more BO members.

CW: Missing person, elements of supernatural horror, mentions of blood and possibly violence, unreliable narrator, implied smut. will update as it goes on. Heavy trigger warning for mentions of alcohol use, ptsd and panic attacks.

WC: 1.5k.

AN: This series will be told throughout a variety of flashbacks and present day, all which will be marked.

Divider: Silent-stories.

Tagged: @enemiestolovershoe, @fadingangelwisp, @littlepeachwhispers, @concreteangel92, @deathblacksmoke, @1toreyouapart, @lacy1986, @chaoticwineaunt, @ichoosetenderomens, @baddestomens, @blade-dressed-in-red, @halfalgorithmhafdeity, @geminigirlfromfinland, @fuck1ng-queen, @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard (if anyone else wishes to be tagged lmk)

PRESENT DAY

“Will you just let me pass so I can go with her!” Detective Green, or Detective Douche as I like to now call him, is keeping me back as the paramedics wheel her out from the house on a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance.

She wasn't pronounced dead on their arrival, which was a good sign, but the bruising around her neck raised some questions, not only from the paramedics but myself.

Nick is barely saying anything, keeping himself back, even as I continue to argue with Detective Douche about me going with them.

“I’ll take you down to the hospital myself but right now you need to be checked over.” He explains, but I refuse the help which comes my way from a small blonde yet hesitant paramedic, who's hand I swat at the moment she tries to reach for me to check me over. 

“Can’t we do this down at the hospital?” I argue and Kit relents, stepping back as he allows me to move forward and toward the open back doors of the second ambulance. I climb up and in, with Nick following silently. He can barely look me in the eye at the moment but my concerns aren't with him, they’re with the ambulance which already has a head start on us.

There were a lot of questions which came with apparently being missing for a year.

Missing. That was what they called it. Missing or dead. The latter somehow didn't scare me as much as it should've, perhaps because where I was felt enough like heaven that being dead was the last of my worries.

Detective Green was the one who questioned me, though even he seemed to have no understanding as to how I'd appeared out from the closet in our own home and unharmed at that. 

All that blood and there was not a mark on me.

I shudder at the memory of that night. I remember everything, as much as I wish not to. Sometimes it would play as a loop during the dull moments of the limbo I resided in.

Other times it would plague me as a literal repeat of events, taunting me as I yelled and called for bubs, only for my fate to always be the same.

My favorite moments were always those by the lake. Our spot.

I knew it was never her, but when the creature came to visit me disguised as her, wearing her skin as close to her image as possible, I could convince myself that I was happy here. 

Because it told me I should be.

“You’re free to go Mr. Seb—”

“Where’s Bubs?” I cut Kit off the minute he lets me go free from being observed, from being questioned, from everything, jumping up from the hospital bed as Nick reaches out as if to hold on and steady me.

“A room down the hall, but be warned Noah. It's not… she’s not in the best state.”

The warning is one I ignore, already half way through the door before heading down the hallway, questioning a nurse I pass on the way and following her direction.

I come to a stop as I reach the door, peering in at her through the glass before taking a step inside. I don't know what I'd anticipated seeing; perhaps the sight of her hooked up to a monitor and a machine or two, but there were tubes and wires everywhere.

Steadily approaching the bed, my fingers ghost along the blanket which lays over her before meeting her fingers. They’re warm but there’s no movement. There’s nothing. She looks as if she's sleeping and peaceful enough that I could be convinced she’s an angel.

From behind me I hear footsteps and when I turn my head I catch Nick standing in the doorway, his lip between his teeth as his brow furrows in worry.

There's a tightness in my throat as I go to speak and  I attempt to hold back the emotion wishing to push free.

“What happened?” 

FLASHBACK

DAY OF NOAH'S DISAPPEARANCE

You've been down at the station all day answering question after question. They didn't hold you. You don't think you're a suspect, though they treat you like one.

You can't remember the things you were asked, or what you said, all you know of that you kept repeating yourself with the same four things; you weren't awake when he was yelling, it was too dark for you to even see anything, you don't know where the blood came from, you don't know anything.

You don't know anything.

Except you do, but don't know if what you know is even real. Your mind has been playing so many tricks on you these last few months that even now, nothing feels real. You feel as if you're living in a daze, everything around you is hazy except there's no lightness, only a heaviness in your body and a thickness to the air which makes it difficult to breathe.

"Are you sure you want to go back in there?" Nicholas asks you from the drivers seat.

"Yeah, bubba. We can grab some stuff for you if you want?" Folio chimes in from the back. 

Everyone had taken shifts throughout the day to wait for you to be released from questioning after making their own statements. Nicholas had been there all day waiting for you, while Folio had been the last to come out and told Matt and Jolly to head home.

You haven't answered. You sit silent, looking out the passengers side window up at the house. It feels daunting to enter, but you know that have to.

"You can stay at mine." The feel of Nicholas' hand on your knee pulls you back from the drain of thoughts you'd been circling, your head snapping in his direction.

"No." You finally answer, your voice is horse from all the crying you've been doing. You're out of tears now, you think. "I... I'll be fine." Your voice isn't assuring, not even to yourself. "I just really want to be alone right now."

From the corner of your eye you can see Folio attempting to reach for you and stop you as you open the passengers side door, before he retreats. You know he's just worried about you, but he doesn't protest your wish to go back to the house or to even be alone.

Nicholas doesn't even voice his own concerns about you being left to your own devices when in such a clear vulnerable state but you realize why when you hear another door opening and as you step out, you turn to see Nicholas has followed your lead in climbing from the car, offering the keys to Folio who's climbing into the driver's seat from the back.

"Nick."

"No. Noah wouldn't want you to be alone right now and I definitely don't want to leave you on your own."

Tears prickle at the corners of your sore eyes once more. You believed the well to have run dry, only to be proven wrong. You don't have it in you to argue and you nod, turning and allowing Nicholas to lead you up the pathway to your home.

Yours and Noah's home.

When you enter you almost expect him to be sat in the couch playing a video game, or over by his desk working on something new, or to come bounding out from the kitchen and greet you, but the house is empty.

It feels as empty as it looks. It feels cold and menacing, like a beast which has now gone to lay dormant after a feast. Because that's what happened, wasn't it?

You sound stupid to believe the house took Noah from you, but it did. You know what you saw. At least you think you do.

Nick's voice doesn't reach your ears as you walk towards the couch, picking up Noah's hoodie which lays over the back of it. You slip it on and it feels like a warm embrace from him. It still smells enough like him that it provides a slight comfort, as if he'd worn it earlier that day.

Exhaustion is quick to hit you the minute you crawl onto the couch and you curl yourself up as small as you can, cocooning yourself in the safety of Noah's hoodie.

You can't bear the thought of going upstairs, of going to your room and where it happened. You know that the police have no hand in cleaning up the aftermath of any incident. Not even one where there's a pool of blood staining the floor and splashes of it coating the walls.

You want to pretend that none of this is happening, that it isn't real and that you haven't just lost your best friend, your boyfriend, in the most inexplicable way.

You hear Nick in the kitchen, cooking or tidying up, you have no idea, but you choose to ignore his presence and close your eyes, until you realise that having him here is perhaps a slight comfort after all. With your eyes closed you can almost convince yourself that it's Noah and that he's not gone at all.

[steviewashere]

The Sound of Silence

Rating: General CW: Internalized Ableism, Quick Mention of the 'R' Word (It's Not Written, Quite Literally as 'R' Word)Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute Steve Harrington, Negative Self Talk, Miscommunication, Mean Eddie Munson (For a Split Second It's Part of the Miscommunication and the Plot), Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Neurodivergent Steve Harrington (Implied), Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Sweetheart

I should say before this that a lot of Steve's thinking here, a lot of the metaphors and such used, are from personal experience. They are things I think about myself when I'm mute. So be civil and kind about this piece.

💛—————💛

Steve Harrington is a man of few words on most days. He does talk, he loves talking sometimes, has so many things to share. But on a lot of occasions, Steve can’t muster the strength to say hello. Can only make sounds, hums and gasps and subtle clicks. And often times, he hides away when he gets to that point. He’s been like this for as long as he can remember. Though, the first time it happened, he’s not sure what really caused it. Just that something was too much, or he was too little and then it all began. There had been therapists and specialists and urgent care doctors. A lot of conversations between him and his parents that often ended in him being yelled at. Something about him too far left of ‘normal’. And he knew, when the bad stuff came, that part of him may just be this way.

Now, years later, he can put some recognition to what silences him. Sometimes it’s the lack of comfortable sleep the night before. Or it’s the social energy completely drained out of him. Or it’s a particular jab that somebody makes. The raised voice that pushes him over the edge. A nightmare so harsh it rips him of not only the ability to mutter whole sentences, but also the ability to crawl out of bed.

He’s only clarified this with a select handful of people. The people in his life that were closest to him or that would understand. Robin was the second. Words written on a steno pad in the middle of the night, three days in a row where he hadn’t been sleeping properly, nightmares of a cold bunker and rough hands. Notes passed in quiet lulls, pencil scratches the only sound. She only looked at him with a sort of empathy he’s never been privy to. Her eyebrows scrunched in concentration as she focused solely on conversation in written text. He didn’t have to beg with her, which he thanked whatever god gave him her presence in the first place. Then, it was Nancy before their breakup. She could just tell. Her notes accommodated him. Space he took up was always welcoming. And her voice carried softly to his ears, gossip and pet names and gentle praise. Even if she broke his heart some time later, he would always remember her better than alcohol stained and too tipsy to make sense. Max was most recent. She, surprisingly, didn’t tease him for it. Didn’t make him feel bad. More sad than anything. Her voice was raspy in her hospital bed, “I’ll be your voice, Steve. You can be my eyes.” He could see the white, nearly iridescent glaze that permanently altered the blue color underneath. There were no words exchanged after that, but he placed his hand in hers and squeezed.

The others either didn’t notice or were too intimidating to tell. It’s not that they’re scary. But they can be harsh about certain things. And he just wasn’t ready. His voice, the absence of his words, have always been a soft, insecure, and vulnerable part to him. Laying out his cards face up on the table was too much.

But he probably should’ve considered Eddie to be one of those people that he can trust. Especially since Steve lets him move in, take up space in a spare bedroom, rummage through his cupboards. Maybe because they’re roommates. Maybe because they’re friends. Maybe because Steve wants more.

———— It was a bad night. An even worse day.

The images flashed under his eyelids every time he blinked. Blood and loose skin and wet muscles. Echoing screeches of those creatures that ruined his nearly blank torso. That sadness rippling from Dustin. His wobbling lip, wet eyes, the snotty nose, and strained yells for help. Steve’s stomach turns with every subtle movement of his body. Every single time he stretches, the scars moving with him. 

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have gone to work. Not when he woke up, throat scratchy and the seizing of his chest overwhelmingly intense with every sobbing gasp. Or when he realized, the energy somewhere else, that mustering words was the heaviest burden to bear. He shouldn’t have gone to work, where he gets yelled at for not communicating. For not counting out the change. For not selling the new movies. Where he’s called things he’s heard since he was a little boy, ‘Dumb’ and ‘Stupid’ and the infamous ‘R’ word.

He’s out of it by the time he’s able to sit down in the driver’s seat of the car. Part of him wants to bang the softest parts of his palms on the harsh, stiff leather of the steering wheel. Another piece of him wants to lean down into those same hands, pressed into the sockets of his eyes hard enough to speckle his sight with black spots, and cry until there’s nothing else to do but go home. There’s the encroaching need to scream, to hum behind his lips, wiggle his arms until they’re too tired to move, too heavy to lift, a worse burden than speaking. But he knows that it’s too open to break down in Family Video’s parking lot. So his drive home is ninety percent heaving breaths and squeezing the steering wheel to remind him he’s nearly back to his bed; his safety away from the world, somewhere where he can recharge, power through this, get back on track.

Though, he’s drained when he goes home. Exhausted. Beaten down to just a bag of meat and blood and bones. The Beemer is parked in the driveway. And he jiggles his keys in the door. And slips his shoes off, hangs up his jacket, places his wallet in the little dish in the foyer. Each step of shedding his work skin like tiptoeing on a bed of nails. Barely even makes it two steps before he’s bombarded by Eddie’s constant, erratic, and chaotic nature.

“Hey, Stevie!” he crows. “I made dinner while you were on your way back. It’s on the stovetop, covered it in foil so that it retains the heat. Oh, and I did the laundry, cleaned up our bathrooms a little bit. Made progress with the physical therapist on my bad leg and I—“

Steve sighs heavily through his nose, blinks sluggishly, and places his palm out to stop Eddie. He tries to say anything, something. But all he does is open his mouth, squeak in the back of his throat, promptly close back up, and sag. Shakes his head, sidesteps, and clambers to his bedroom.

Undressing himself like wrestling with bears. Climbing under his covers as if his comforter is a taut iron sheet. He can already sense it, the shift from charismatic Steve Harrington to odd Steve Harrington. Can’t even suppress the aching, sizzling pang that shoots through. Naked skin to his cold bedsheets. Blanket heavy. The darkness of his bedroom will coddle and consume him, he’s sure. 

Tomorrow is another day to try again. And maybe he’ll finally be able to explain himself.

But of course it’s not that simple. Of course his eyes are crusted over and burning like he spent the entire night crying. His whole body aches. And, unsurprisingly, there’s no way to conjure words from deep in his chest. Just whistled little breaths. Coming short and strained from his nose. He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Blearily, he wonders how Eddie’s doing. If the dinner from last night made it to the fridge. Wonders if the phone has rung at all, because he should be going to work.

He tries it. Tries speaking to the lonely, cold, inky blackness of his room. As if seeking for a light. The sounds strain and garble. Like his emotions are honey and he’s gargling. Choking on it. It hurts. He wonders if speaking should be like death, like a demobat tail wrapped around his tender skin, squeezing with razor blade spikes, tugging on him as stiff and thick ropes. Wonders if Eddie can hear him struggling.

Wonders if Eddie can sense him as a shadow in his own darkness, half of a man, barely a person. Thinks that there’s a million ways to explain himself, the words on paper as he did with Robin, or if Eddie will pick him up like dead star fragments and piece him back together as Nancy did, if he’ll just have to wait this out and whisper it in the fragile, sterile, fluorescent light of his childhood home—it’s a hospital in a way, maybe Eddie can perform the role of Max. Steve would offer his legs to take over for Eddie’s bad one, if he’ll be the boisterous noise that should be croaking from him any moment.

Futile, however much he wants it to work. Steve curls himself tighter in his blanket and goes back to sleep. 

Tomorrow will be another day. And he’ll be a full person again, tomorrow.

Some day, surely, he thinks on day three.

And the same on day four.

And when he can smell his skin like molded vegetables in the drawer of his fridge, only then does he stand on doe like legs, awkwardly ambling to the shower. He is twenty years old, mute as the day he was born—breathless and making noise if only to mark his presence; he thinks of himself as the stain on his bedspread, that is his presence, he’s sure. Twenty years old, moving like the toddler his mother was worried about. Crawling backwards. Unable to lift his head on his own for too long. He wonders a lot in the silence of his own existence. It doesn’t end now, in the shower with steam clearing his nasal passages. Ponders, Will I always be this way?

Surely.

The dirt swirls in invisible tornadoes down the drain. Those are his words. Still gone. Through the pipes and out to the sewer. He stands on the plush rug protecting the warm soles of his feet from the cold tile. An overly used towel, threadbare and rough, wrapped around his waist. He slips into pajamas easily enough. Hair sopping and wilted into his eyes.

Tentative creaks down the stairs. Shuffling if only to take up space. Frozen to his spot in the kitchen doorway. There, in the kitchen, shrouded in amber light with a warm mug of what appears to be hot chocolate, is Eddie. He looks up from the pale brown liquid in his cup. His eyes are richer than that of what he drinks. And Steve is startled by how sad, though ferociously angry they are.

“I know this is your house and you’re allowed to do whatever the fuck you want, but you can’t just be a piece of shit to me,” Eddie rasps. His voice is nearly hollow. Penetrated by shrapnel between his teeth. And Steve also wonders if that’s what he’ll sound like after this. This limbo he can’t control. “Seriously, Steve. I thought you were, like, changed or something. Thought you were supposed to be this good guy now. Not a douchebag, remember?”

‘Douchebag’ spits from him like acid. Steve is burning. He is sizzling. Can’t help the trembling in his hands. Or the subtle, missed by Eddie, flinch that forces him back a step.

He looks away from those molten eyes of Eddie’s. Towards the floor. At his bare feet. Going cold against the hardwood. Wants to throw it all up. The explanation. His thoughts. Every little other thing about him that’s always made him some sort of spectacle in his parent’s marriage. Am I the cold, he asks to nobody in particular, or am I the body drowning in it?

Eddie sniffles. Clears his throat. Sighs disappointingly.

Steve is five years old. His dad is sitting at the table. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eight years old, covered in mud and pink lines from being scuffed on the concrete. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eighteen years old, bloodied, beaten blue, sweaty, and soot on his new shoes. He is being scolded for not speaking up.

He is traumatized. And he is tired. And he can’t explain, no matter how much he wants.

“Maybe I should’ve expected this,” Eddie mutters, “being friends with Steve Harrington was always a sort of fantasy anyway, right? Who could like a freak?”

It’s not loud, though it disrupts the quiet Steve thought could never be broken again. He sobs. Wretched and screeching. The tears like a flash flood. His chest caving in. All the sounds escaping him, garbled and messy and drowning. He is drowning. He is different. He’s a freak. And Eddie must know, but not like Nancy does. Or he must have found something, the steno pad. Must’ve talked to Max, something.

He collapses into one of the dining chairs. A heaping mess of blood and skin and bones and meat. Just this. He is this with nothing to explain for it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, though blurry, he sees Eddie stand from his chair. Making some sort of aborted movement. And, without much thinking, Steve scrambles his hands forward, wrapping them tight on Eddie’s forearms, tugging him in too close. Forcing him to stumble into his knobby knees. Fingers still squeezing, fingernails biting into Eddie’s soft skin.

“Hey, whoa, whoa,” Eddie’s whispering, “Stevie, hey.” He crouches down, arms encased in Steve’s terrible hold. It’s almost hard to picture, the space and positions between them. Eddie’s wobbling on his own feet, probably sore and aching on his bad leg. Though, there’s a palm warm on Steve’s cheek. Wiping away at the tears. Trying to, at least; more keep streaming. Fingers carefully scooting into his hairline. Massaging on his scalp, pruning with the cold water in his hair. “Steve,” he murmurs, “hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. That was—I’m sorry, Steve. I really am. That wasn’t okay.”

He doesn’t know what comes from him next to cause Eddie’s eyes to widen in both surprise and horror, but it must be something awful. A scream. Loud and piercing and high pitched. Shooting from him like a bullet, shattering everything between them. Shrapnel from between his teeth.

Eddie frees from Steve’s grasp, wrapping his arms around his shaking back, bringing him in gently. Rocking him from side to side until he’s only whimpering. Petting down Steve’s hiccuping back. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers against Steve’s ear. “I was being mean. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Eventually, he pulls back some. Putting a small amount of space between their bodies. Steve is shaking from it all. Unable to do much. Eddie soothes a hand down his left arm. “Tell me what’s going on? How come you’ve been pulling away?”

Steve shakes his head. Placing a tired and limp hand on his throat.

“You lose your voice? Are you sick?” Again, Steve shakes his head. And Eddie goes quiet for a few slow moments. Until, a lightbulb seems to shine bright and shatter over his hair, amber light still causing him to glow, despite it all. He scrambles up off the floor. Squeezes Steve’s shoulders. Lightly says, “Stay here, okay? I’m gonna go find a pen and some paper. Be right back.”

When he’s back at Steve’s chair, the both of them significantly calmer, a brand new steno pad is in his hands. He hands it off with a chewed up ballpoint pen. “Tell me by writing it down.”

And so Steve does. Gives it back. Lets Eddie read his chicken scratch scrawl.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ is the first thing. Followed by, ‘I’ve been like this since I was a little kid. When things get bad or I just don’t have the energy, it’s like my body forgets how to talk.’

“Oh,” Eddie whispers. He blinks at the paper and looks up to Steve. A sad little smile flashes on his face. “Okay, Steve. I—I think I get it. Kind of like when my day gets really busy and then when I go home, I just shut myself in my room and listen to music until I fall asleep. Kinda like that?”

Steve shrugs and reaches for the paper again. Writing, ‘Sort of. But it’s for a long time. Like…You know now. Sometimes I don’t talk for weeks. Sometimes it’s a few hours. But I get like this a lot.’ When he’s finished and Eddie goes to speak again, Steve immediately writes some more. Eddie’s mouth shuts with the soft click of his teeth.

‘Am I really a freak?’ Is what Eddie reads next.

His head shoots up from the paper. Eyes impossibly wider than they’ve ever been. Startled and desperate and unbearably sad. “No,” he murmurs quickly. “No, Steve, you’re not a freak. What makes you think that?”

The pad trembles in Steve’s grasp. He doesn’t want to write it, wouldn’t even want to speak it. But still, he sketches, ’You asked me, “Who could like a freak?”’ He tilts his head at his own words. Ducks back in, his hands shaking too much and his eyes moist. ‘It’s okay if you think so. I’m kind of used to it.’

Eddie snatches the paper from Steve’s offered grip. He swallows heavily and locks eyes with him, they’re still so sad. He wonders if that’s what Eddie’s seeing, too. “Stevie, no,” he whispers. “No, I was talking about myself. I thought you were mad at me. Thought you didn’t like me. I don’t think of you that way.”

Steve nods, sagging with relief. And with it a few tears spring loose from his eyes. A hand softly cups his jaw, thumbing at his fat hot tears. He closes his eyes and sighs. “Not mad,” he forces, his voice like raw, out of the box grits. It hurts, but he swallows. “You are my friend,” he musters before falling silent again.

A soft, sad hum emanates from Eddie. His hand tenses on Steve’s skin, but it holds to him gently, like he never wants to let go. “You’re mine, too, you know that? I’m genuinely sorry for what I said,” Eddie says. The apology sweet and drenching. “That wasn’t okay of me. I’m sorry.”

There’s no words Steve can press from within him. He lays his hand over Eddie’s and squeezes. Eyes now open and darting between Eddie’s own. He pushes their joined hands further into his cheek, sighing with it. Boneless in his chair.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, “I understand, sweetheart. I get you now.” His thumb soothes more. Petting—caressing Steve in a way that makes his stomach flutter. “We’ll get you through this,” he promises, “I won’t go anywhere.”

💛—————💛

[precursorlamb]

❝ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 ！！！

# 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐁 ; independent, selective 𝐁𝐇𝐀𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐂 from 𝐃&𝐃 / 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐒. oc, crossover & multimuse friendly. 21+. n.sfw. violence & gore present. written by 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌. he/him. ( sideblog to @bloodtwin )

𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒. 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒. 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆: bloodtwin . . .

𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆: accultant . . . 

⸻ 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓 ⸻

𝟎𝟏. 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐘: No, seriously. This blog is a dark comedy first & a Greek tragedy second. There are always shenanigans happening here. We are just having fun & playing dolls together. :o)

𝟎𝟐. 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒: That being said, I did say dark comedy. There will be blood, guts & gore with a dash of cannibalism & necrophilia on this blog. I will always tag cannibalism, necrophilia, & any graphic visuals.

Furthermore, due to the nature of Caliban's relationship with Puck, there will be heavy, potentially triggering topics including religious trauma, cults, brainwashing, infidelity, gaslighting, grooming & domestic abuse ⸻ please follow with caution & take care of yourself ！ 

IF WE FOLLOW EACH OTHER, PLEASE TAG ANY MENTIONS OF C.OCKROACHES SPECIFICALLY, ESPECIALLY IMAGES.

𝟎𝟑. 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆: I use glitter gifs in my replies. PLEASE let me know if I should not use them, or any other kind of formatting I have, in threads with you. I will always tag them as "cw f.lashing g.if" ！

𝟎𝟒. 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: I am very chatty both in the tags of replies & in general on the dashboard but tend to be shy in DMs at first. I promise this is nothing to do with you. I'm just autistic, hehe.

MUTUALS: I know I just said I'm shy in DMs, but feel free to ask for my discord. It's easier to chit-chat there. :o)

𝟎𝟓. 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗: Best way to get something going with me. It's always open & you're always free to turn asks into threads. Get in there, champ ！

𝟎𝟔. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆: Caliban is, first & foremost, in a situationship with Puck. This will always be true, unless our thread is set before Caliban meets Puck. But, if you are open to a “this is my boyfriend Caliban & his boyfriend Puck” dynamic, I am a sucker for ships so I will likely be interested. 

𝟎𝟕. 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖: Mun & muse are both 21+. There will be suggestive content on this blog, including smut. Do NOT follow if you are a minor or do not have your age range somewhere on your blog. I will block you.

𝟎𝟖. 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄: Caliban is a very bad person. He has . . . almost zero redeeming qualities. I do not condone any of his actions. In fact, I do not like him at all, yet here we are. Hm.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 17

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 9.7k

a/n: Hi sweethearts, its here... part 1 of New Orleans. Enjoy and happy Kinktober.

CW: Mentions of past poor relationship with eating

Masterlist

Javier is a smooth operator, you'll give him that. He slips out of your house without disturbing your mothers tranquil slumber. You were no good either, awoken by a chaste kiss, “Call me.” he whispers at 4 in the morning before disappearing out your window. You stir, still convinced you were dreaming. You wake with an attempt at nuzzling into his chest but instead you're met with the ghost of his warmth and the sound of your mother calling your name from the kitchen. 

Eyes squinted you rise from bed and immediately sit back down. Your eyes widen and flash at your bare lower half, the soreness was a bit much. You know Javier would power trip if he saw the way your legs gave out. You wince as you waddle over to grab some pants.

You walk down your stairs into your kitchen with a warm flush on your face. You last saw your mother when she practically said you weren’t welcome in your house any more and now she has a narrowed eyed glare at you when you stumble down the stairs. Two eggs cracked, both for her. Her plate ready with tomato’s right where Javier bent you over and fucked you just 15 hours prior. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. 

“Good morning.” You croak with a yawn, passing her to open the fridge for some water. Her eyes follow you the whole time, trying to read your every move. Judging bit by bit. 

Your eyes drag down to the counter where the house phone goes unhooked and stretched laid flat. She must have just gotten off the phone. You ignore it, you felt like your mother was always on the phone. Always stressed about the boutique. 

“You’re sleeping with Javier.”

She says it matter-of-fact. Despite being prepared for the accusation you feel your stomach flipping. You had scripted this approach and prepared yourself before you dozed off after actually being fucked by Javier Peña (for the second time).

You flare your nostrils and widen your eyes in the best acting you’ve done in years and you deliver it so perfectly, “Xavier?” 

You almost want to giggle, and your mother gasps—a mixture of relief and concern. Her eyes dart to the phone and you follow her gaze. “You’re back together?” She lowers the stove heat and crosses her arms, this is her dream. Marry you off to the soldier, the well off soldier. But her reaction is less expressive, maybe I should ask who she was just calling. 

Later, you think, crush her twisted dreams now, “Oh you were talking about Javi!” You laugh as if her accusation was nothing short of ridiculous. “C’mon mami.. Why would you—oh the car?” You roll your neck, let go of all the knots and cracks.

Your mothers shoulders fall, probably upset that you aren't trying to work things out with your very awful ex. You wish she knew, how horrible he was, she’d still side with him. 

You never described your mother as cruel, not even when you went away to Miami, when you could’ve rewritten your story. Your mother hadn’t beat you, she never called you names and she rarely ever yelled. And she wasn’t always cold. She could be kind to you, friendly, but she could also be mean—too straight up, afraid of white lies. She never loved you much, you knew people you met in college who showed you more love than your mother had. You spent all your life alone in your own home but at a certain point you made family with others. 

Yet you ached for that affection from your biological family.

You hadn't given up completely and you reached an age where you could form a relationship with your brother. Finally, he wasn’t an extension of your mother, he could form his own opinions. You could distract yourself from the cast of sadness when she stares at you too long, when she’s reminded of how you came to be. When she looks at you and sees your father.

But through her frowns and sighs you at least had Frankie. Your brother was yours just as much as he was your mothers. He took care of you, you cared for him, he was mean, he was rude, but he loved you so much he never knew what to do with it. He struggled to protect you from certain things but he tried his best. God, he isnt good at showing it but he cares. He’s trying his best, you don’t think anyone loves you as much, and he doesn’t even love you all that much so it’s a bit sad and embarrassing when you think of it. 

Your mother and Frankie found common ground on most things, it was just a quirk they developed from sharing so much time together. You and your mother have never agreed on anything in your life.

There were few things the two differed. Frankie was a cowboys fan and your mother favored the Texans. She hated his long hair, Frankie promised to never cut it. Frankie would kill Javier if he found what the two of you do, your mother will kill you instead.

 Frankie saw it as a situation of respect, you were his baby sister for crying out loud. He thought your crush was a nuisance at worst, but he had seen how distant you got when he left. He wanted to kill Javier when he found out he kissed you before he went away, shit he wanted to kill you too.

And your mother, she thought your crush was child’s play. She saw Lorraine and Javier, she told you once that that, the romance between two teens, deciding to start their lives together, that was a display of true love. Your mom smiled over her food as she gushed over Javier and his girlfriend. You struggled to keep your food down when you entered the bathroom. 

You don’t know when she made that decision because she seemed to be very indifferent to Javier’s personal life before he left. You guessed it was when she started having dinner with Lorraine's mother twice a week. It was also paired with her not considering you good enough for the son of Don Chucho. Makes more sense now that you know she slept with him too.

In her head it was Javier and Lorraine forever, so even if you admitted right now that you were sleeping with him she would find some way to talk you out of it for the sake of Lorraine. 

You explain the bar lie and she believes you without batting an eye.

Between flickered glances at the phone and at you she presses some questions about his job and if he’ll speak to Lorraine before he leaves.

Mrs. Smith is convinced Lorraine and Javier will get married soon. You try not to audibly sigh as you go on about not being sure. She nods and serves her plate of eggs, you were meaning to ask why she came home early but the bubbling anxiety of mentioning Louisiana took over.

“Javier is driving me to Baton Rouge.” You drop nonchalantly. Pushing your sex and bed head out of your face as you sit on the stool. Her fork clatters and she coughs. 

She’s silent for a moment, her dark brown eyes half lidded, her nostrils flaring slightly. Just like you, you got that from her… that small tick when you’re frustrated. She only urges an e por que?

You keep it cool, you know she’ll be upset regardless. “I’ll be staying with my grandmother for the weekend. Javier has a work trip in New Orleans, I’ll catch a ride.” 

She lets out an overdrawn sigh, “señor dame fuerza,” she mutters her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Always so dramatic, your eyes flash to the clock, shouldn’t she be in church? You’d bring it up but you know if you do she’d throw that fork at you. “¿Sabes qué? No puedo detenerte.”

Your brows raise in shock.You let a silence beat before you reply, “No, you can’t.”

She sighs, “You know I’m just trying to protect you.”

And you don’t know what has gotten into you but— “Too late for that.”

Your mothers aging eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly in shock. For a split second you feel a pang in your chest, the guilt for that second is unbearable. But who had been there when you cried so much you’d choke? Had she felt guilty when she passed your room when you cried for her affection when you were just six. Had she felt guilty then? 

Her gaze falls to the plate and you twist the knife further. “I’ll be apartment hunting there too, for this coming winter.” It comes to you on the spot, you never had the intention to do so but after her “move out” suggestion the idea came naturally. Maybe it was a mixture of hope, hoping the family in Baton Rouge would open their arms to you and never make you feel unwelcome. 

Her brows raise a bit and with her smallest stutter she whispers, “Bien.”

“Good.” You snap, crossing your arms.

Her eyes widened again, appalled at your audacity. “Well–I’m going to work. I called your brother about you and Javier so you might want to clear the air.”

Your mother dramatically exits like she had two days ago when she dropped the first bomb of the week. An unbearable panic explodes in your chest, you physically recoil the second she leaves. Hand over your chest, you try to bite back tears. 

No–not yet. No, not this time. 

Avoidant, often you call yourself that. You avoided the things that made you feel anything other than a sense of security.  You’d have 7 blow up arguments with your mother a year, in reality you should have an argument a day but you often avoided that too. You avoided all things Javier when he was gone, avoided breaking up with Xavier until the very last minute.

It was just in your nature, so after a few shed tears and a coughing up the milk you chugged from your wrecked nerves, you avoided the thought of being confronted by your older brother. You avoided the idea of having to lie to his face and then somehow convince him that despite your mothers claims you were indeed not fucking his best friend but you are also heading on a completely platonic mini vacation together in just a few days. 

The trait was probably your fathers. Your mother never avoided a confrontation, she’d follow you up the stairs before you physically create a barrier between you two. Frankie had been the same way, stern and a bit mean but always in search to solve the problem the second it started. The second he found out you had kissed Javier from some girl who stopped by the hair salon he drove straight to the house to talk to you about it. That was them and like most things ‘mom and son’ you just couldn't be on that same level.

With that when your mom left you alone after that bomb you had locked yourself into your room and planned your lessons for the week, completely (sort of) shutting out all thoughts of this morning. 

Until 2 pm when you had gotten hungry after only drinking milk that you spat up like an infant. Your brain splitting in two when you’re met with the back of your big brother's head. Somehow feeling some more of that bile lingering and coming back up. 

“Frankie…” You whispered turning the corner and into the kitchen where he sat at the island stool. His hair still long and curly, Genie had a love-hate thing with it, on one hand he had beautiful healthy curls and on the other he looked a bit shaggy with it. It was a bit 1975 of him, the denim and mustache. Him and Javier being best friends just made sense, their style never evolved. 

You see his face now, in his hands is a book and his eyes aren't as angry as you feared. That scared you the most, so you began, “Gordo–” His eyes flashed to yours again, maybe calling him by your childhood nickname was a bit much. “Mami is mistaken, you have to believe me– me and Javi never-we haven’t-god, we’re not even.”

But Frankie cuts, “Did you take a psychology course at Miami.” 

Um…

Your brows pull tightly, afraid of where this is going. Is he just going to ignore the whole– “Yes-yeah I did, childhood and adolescent development and psychology.”

“Did you ever read Julian Ridden, anything from him?” Frankie taps his book and places it on the counter ignorant of him, his hand splayed on the cover and then slowly retreated. Words upside down, cover a pale palm out open. 

You shake your head, “No– it was more like Piaget and Freud, what does this have to do with anything? I want to talk to you Frankie!”

Well so much for being avoidant. Now that he’s here you want none of whatever he’s trying to do now, no mind games, just let me lie to you dammit. 

“Ridden came up with the Being and Knowing theory about parents who grew up with out a father of their own. He says that men who never had a father figure in their life often overcompensate in the lives of their children, they know what's it like to not have a father so they become what they wished for.”

Your brows soften for a moment, the tightness in your chest shifting from the possibility of being caught to concern for your brother. You take a step closer, pulling the book towards you and flipping it. “Frankie…are you alright, I know–well I don't but I figure the idea of being a father feels scary.” 

“I’m sorry for not being there for you when you were little.” His head drops and you hurry to his side, slinging your arm over his shoulders. He shook his head in disagreement. It’s okay, you murmur into his shoulder. “It isn't okay, upu had no one, not even mami. I see it now. And I know it wasn't my responsibility to play the role of your father but I could’ve been a better example of what a man should be.”

Your heart splits in two and suddenly every worry you built until now washes away, a few tears fall at the sound of something so unfortunately true. You just hated that he realized how it’s been for you,  that now he’s hurt too, you only wished that this would only pain you. “It’s okay you did your best, I’m better now.” 

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose and shrugs you off, startled you wipe your own tears afraid of what outburst is coming from this, “You looked for that in Javi–I know me, your dad and even fucking Xavier didn't treat you well, Javier was there for you and I feel like I prosecuted you for that–it's fucked up.”

There it is, taking the back of your palm you wipe your brow and land your hands on your hips. “What…”

“Listen, I was too hard on you about Javier. I know that now, I get it. He left and I blamed you internally, and sure some of it was your fault but I don’t know why I lacked sympathy for you all I thought about was myself.” 

You cross your arms, now he’s entering waters unknown. When Javi left your brother distanced, you had taken the educated guess that it was because he was starting his life with his girlfriend not much else. Blame me? What was my fault? For what? You bite the inside of your lip, staring down the profile of your brother's face. “What do you mean?”

His brows screw, still his gaze fixed on nothing ahead of him. “You made shit awkward, Javier never called and when he did all he wanted to talk about was you.”

Your face flushes, “I’m sorry what– Javier doing Javier shit has nothing to do with me. He’s a famously known flaker, he leaves.. Often and when he does he like chooses to not exist in our lives. That's not my fault!”

Frankie closes his eyes and exhales a frustrated one. “Obviously some shit happened before he left which I know now was him fucking kissing you, god you should’ve never let that happen Andrea.”

You mirror his angry exhale and your tears have since dried. “Oh give me a break, I was fucking sixteen and in love with him, god forbid we share a kiss. Jesus christ, it wasn't that serious, he left and stopped calling. He's here now!”

Frankie’s head snaps to you in disbelief, “Wasn't that serious? He left and you didn't fucking eat, you were never home and when you started to be healthy again you started dating that–that prick, that called you fat on your birthday dinner. You leave for Miami and you never call, you come home and you work out until you’re sick and now Javier’s home and all of a sudden you're easy going and healthy and fine. That is a big deal!” 

You stood frozen in front of him feeling like an open wound. Everything you hid, all the habits you tried to keep under wraps. How you skipped the meals your mother made, when you cried embarrassed when Genie found you on the side of the road after nearly fainting from a run. You had blocked it out, avoidant, Xavier had asked if you really wanted dessert on your eighteenth birthday, in front of your brother. He sat and watched. You were at a loss of words for once, you couldn't muster up anything to say. All things were true, he was right but you couldn’t face the connection. 

“I…” You swallow the lump in your throat, “Yes, Frankie, yes I struggled. But it is what it is, it’s in the past!” You just accepted that idea 4 days ago but you couldn't tell him that, no. 

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping tile, “I can sympathize with you now, we’re grown up but you complicated shit and I lost my best friend! You need to take responsibility.”

“I didn't do anything wrong!”

He scoffs, “Oh please! I wasn't the best brother to you but you knew Javier would do anything for you, you knew he was with Lorraine and you still had to have him! You never saw it this way, how could you? All you think about is yourself, but he was my friend first! He was my only fucking friend Andrea and-” His finger is pointed in your face. You're so angry you could slap him but that wouldn't end well, you and your brother were never above rough-housing. The optics arent the same now that the two of you are adults. “And imagine how I feel… after all this time, all this distance to get a call from mami saying regardless of it being my only boundary you're still seeing him? Please tell me I’m mistaken, nena. I’ll fucking kill him you have to understand me–he’s my family but you’re my little sister and I’m not letting him hurt you again, I cant watch it again. ” His finger falls. 

Your skin feels a size too tight at that, the nickname he gave you when he first held you in his own chubby toddler arms. The burn of little sister, his stare blown and frantic you couldn't even tell exactly what he was mad about but it seemed to all boil over. Those six years of resentment you never knew he held.  Standing in the kitchen where you had the man he’s begging you to be away from, below the bathroom where he asked you to go away with him and now with wild embers in the deep brown irises of your big brother, he pleads. 

He is pleading, please don’t lie to me any longer, please don’t, not Javier, anyone else.

And you feel it, the guilt, the sick twisting storm throughout your body. You feel everything at once, you feel the paternal look in Frankie's eyes, his newfound fatherhood giving him perspective on how it must have been for you. You feel the resentment in how you acted after Javi left, how you never considered how his best friend leaving burned him too. 

But so selfishly you’re brought back to the feeling of being in his arms. You hate that your brain is proving Frankie's point. Javier makes you feel stable, safe and maybe it’s unhealthy but it’s the greatest comfort you’ve ever felt.

You hadn’t known warmth until then. 

 Come november he’ll be gone and if you're careful no one gets hurt, he leaves and your secret is kept. Frankie is your family, he has hurt you 4 times over, he passed your room when you wept and rubbed in your face the relationship he had with your mother. You loved him to death but your feelings for Javier belong to you. You’re so tired of being told how to behave.

You lie.

“I am not sleeping with Javier.” Frankie’s tense shoulders drop, and you drag on the falsehood. “Mom got the wrong idea but I told her he had dropped his car off here so he could head to the bar and I’m so sorry for fucking shit up but its…me and him are different now. He’s my…” Your eyes drop, not having the heart to look at him as you fabricate all he knows. “He’s my best friend too, he knows about my grandma, he’s taking me to see her so we’ve been spending time together.” Half true, you hadn't even brought up your grandmother to Javier but you hoped to soon. You flick your gaze upward and your brother is stone face,  internalizing all that you laid out, all the deception, you feel the trust between you two chipping piece by piece. 

Your grandma, he whispers to himself and instantly frowns. He pulls you close to him tightly. You stay in the embrace for long, beginning to cry in shame. Feeling sick to lie to him this way, sob while he believes it’s because of your paternal trauma. 

He’ll never forgive me. 

Your brother leaves and it takes a few hours of complete isolation for you to feel anything at all. Sitting with your legs crossed in your bedroom, reliving all the good and bad in your story. Trying to pin-point all the wrong Frankie has done to justify lying to him the way you did. It’s radio silence in your room as you numbly pack, each corner tucked and rolled is a reminder of all the relationships you’re ruining. You think of your mother as you pack, you think of every time you packed a bag or lack thereof. 

There were few things your mother did for you. By fourteen you were made to make your own dinner, pay for your own hair cuts, and keep up with your dentist appointments. But the one thing you could always rely on with your mother was her packing skills. She’d watch you struggle and let out an exasperated sigh before shoving you out the way and taking matters in her own hands. 

Now at 9 pm you feel your mothers presence at the doorway while you struggle. It’s slight, the breeze surrounding her body, you feel the narrowed eyes peeled to the back of your head, the room pulsing with anticipation. 

Will you be my mother again?

The weak part of you pleads. 

But she closes the door for you without another word. And it's so silly but you begin to tear up, it's done once and for all.

You try your best to sleep that night but you find it impossible. You arrive at your class 10 minutes late with the students shaking their heads when they observe the cup of coffee in your hand. Class goes as good as it could be considering it was antsy eighth graders who had failed their algebra final. Two more weeks of summer school, one more month until you make a decision on your classroom. It makes you giggle a bit being called Ms. Diaz. 

Javier doesn't call you Monday night but you know it's for the better. You know once you hear his voice you’ll miss him and you shouldn't do any more secret rendezvous until your family quits the speculation. You’ll have him all weekend, you'll have him in a few days. 

On Tuesday you come home from work to a stranger taking care of your baby sister. Slowly your mother cuts off your purpose in her home. Hiring a nanny named Florencia, you still pick up Sol and give the nanny a break. Rolling your R’s in her face and watching as she attempts to mock you, she gets fed up. She smiles and pulls on your hair.

You’ll miss her the most you think, sometimes she makes you believe maybe you’ll be a good mother. 

Wednesday ebbs and flows, you see Javier at the market. He stops in his tracks at the end of the aisle, strangely reminiscent of when he saw you for the first time after his year away. You in your bikini top and him in his dark jacket in 7/11. This time Javier looks around for on lookers and you do the same before he stalks you down the aisle, pushing your cart away before grabbing at your cheeks for a quick kiss that has your chest heating. 

He steps away from you, creating distance in case a customer comes by. No one would know how had just kissed her.

You blush profusely and before you could tease him a worker passes you with a cart and begins stocking right next to the two of you. 

“My dad is waiting in the truck.” Javier blurts, you take this moment to appreciate his attire. You want to ask if he dresses up this nice every time he goes for errands, you on the other hand… how funny would that kiss look to onlookers? A fully suited Javier pressing his lips to you in an oversized flannel and denim shorts. 

You nod, “Okay…” 

Javier looks over at the nosy employee, the two of you knew who the worker was, he was in Genie’s graduating class. Javier rolls his tongue in his cheek annoyed with their interaction being startled and it would be far too obvious to take the conversation elsewhere. Tilting his head to the ceiling and that familiar Peña sass you're so used to. He narrows his eyes at the worker again and shakes his head. Your cheeks hurt from the active attempt to not laugh. 

“I’ll see you around Andrea, you look great.” He teases, his hand squeezing our shoulder. The worker stops his stocking at that and Javier doesn't give you the opportunity to pinch him because he's walking away. 

Thursday you attempt to finish packing, stomach flipping at the thought of being on the road with Javier at 5 am the next day. Ten hours on the road and 3 nights alone. You stuff your birth control in between your towel and going out dress. 

Right before bed, Javier calls your home phone. You aren't given the time to say hello. 

“Are you okay?” He urges beyond the line. Your brows pull tight, your eyes dart to your packed back on the floor and to your clock, 10 pm. 

“Yeah…are you okay?” You laugh and to your surprise he doesn't laugh back.

“Frankie came to my house today.”

Your heart skips a beat and you sit up in bed. Fuck. “O-okay what did he say?”

“I dont know… I just, I’m so sorry. I apologized to him for writing him off but you never told me about you eating or your grandmother I’m so-”

Your ears run hot, “Oh god he told you! I’m going to fucking kill him, jesus christ Frankie” 

“Andrea let me see you, I can't wait until the morning. I need you to know.”

“Javi… please. My struggle was my business and it wasn't you or whatever, I was going through a lot more than you leaving at that time. I-” Your voice dies for a moment but you continue before Javier could cut you off. “I would rather talk about this tomorrow, please Javi.”

He’s silent for a moment, a beat, in that silence your brain clicks, Oh my god I haven't even told him about my grandmother. 

“My grandmother”

“Your grandma” You both say in sync but you allow him to continue. “Your fathers mother contacted you, why didn't you tell me?” He says softly. 

It wasn't intentional, at least you don't think it was. You're not sure when was the appropriate time to bring it up without it seeming like you accepted this weekend trip for a free ride. “She wants to meet me, she lives in Baton Rouge. I just didn't want to feel like I was just using you for a ride.” You sigh, afraid to admit. The thoughts of maybe being accepted by your father or a grandmother or an aunt, anyone. Your breath shudders.  “I know… I know it's stupid but I’m so desperate for a family Javi.”  You whisper. 

He lapses into another silence. In those seconds you grew embarrassed with yourself, with your desperation. You felt a pang of ungratefulness, you saying this to someone who watched his mother walk out. You think of the people who have no one. You think of your own mother whose parents passed while she was a teen. Why did I say that? 

“We’ll go see her on our way back home.”

Your brows pull together “What?” You frown. 

“You should never feel like you're using me, I’ll take you Sunday to meet your grandmother.” You're silent again in a space between disbelief and expectation until he pushes you over the edge. “And… I am your family, you will always have me. But I think you know that.”

Your breath dies again, your chin quivering out of control. 

I love you. How desperately you want to tell him, Javi, I love you so much. 

Your mother is awake when you load your bags into Javier’s truck. You hear her rattling in the bathroom when you tie your shoes, you know she’ll watch from the window in her robe when you buckle in so when Javier grabs your bags you distance yourself, avoiding whatever affection he itches to show you.

You exhale when he settles in. He looks awfully handsome today, already dressed in conference attire. A lovely fitted mustard button down and black pants, his eyes flitting down to the glittering watch on his left wrist. And he tries to lean in again and you turn your head towards the window, and he gets the message. Still mutters curses regardless and pulls out of your street. 

It takes 30 seconds to be on an empty dirt road and hes dangerously leaning to bite on your exposed shoulder, “Missed you querida, taste so sweet.” He grits and your redden straight down to your chest before letting out a ticklish giggle. You wiggle your hand around his head and tug his head off of you by the root of his hair. He looks at you with wet parted desperate lips and good god, you want him to pull over but–

“Eyes on the road agente.” 

His eyes narrow and he shakes away his urge and continues down the road. You roll your neck, what an awful night of sleep you've had. You kick off your sandals and bring your knees to your chest. Leaning your cheek on your knee and you admire the man next to you. Sunrise splitting the pretty green trees, creating a lovely canary colored cast on the strong of his nose and eyes. His eyes, your stomach jumps, what lovely lashes on a man. You're envious. 

It's silent until you're out of town and heading in the direction of George West, his eyes side glancing at you and double takes. His right palm covers your knee and pats, “Don't sit like that, it's dangerous.” Your lip quirks and you comply, remembering when he had said the same thing on your way to Liandra’s quince six years ago. He smirks at how quickly you obey, his calloused hand inching slowly up your leg and under your dress. 

Your lip is between your teeth instantly and you part your legs. Hands at the end hem of your pearl colored dress.

Eyes still on the road he drags his fingers against your thin panties, your breath hitches as your buck your hips to give him more space, instead he slips his fingers in the space below, cupping you. The bumpy road jerks your core against his palm, you gasp and he chuckles.

“Javi…” You rub yourself on his palm, your free hand gripping his wrist. Your eyes fluttering closed, feeling the ball of his palm create the most necessary friction on your clit. Your panties ruined already, he must love the feel of the wetness seeping through. 

His eyes stay on the road the whole time, “Hurry up, two more minutes and we hit a town.” He keeps his cool while you unravel next to him, inching towards an orgasm at dawn. And you let go of his wrist and run your hand up over your dress, needing as much touch as possible. You grip at your breast and hump his palm faster. This, this is quite the sight because despite your shut eyes you can feel Javier’s distracted gaze. “Christ, yeah baby let me see you.” Shamelessly you pull the top of your dress down, exposing your pretty peaked nipple and thats it. 

Javier is moving his hand from under you and swerving the car off road. Thankfully these backroads won't see anyone but long haul truckers at this time because you're still so disoriented from the neared climax you don't think to fix yourself up but from the way Javier puts the car in park you know you wont need to fix anything. You're unbuckling and slipping your panties off instantaneously and he follows.

Unbuckling, unzipping and pulling out his erection. And to hell with thinking twice because the sight of him aching and twitching against his shirt has you scrambling on top of him. 

His hands steading you as your hand slips between you, grabbing ahold of him with his tip prodding your entrance. You sink down, you moan softly but Javi is letting out a throaty rasp. Still you aren't used to the stretch of him especially from this angle. Your dress pools around the two of you, blocking any view of your bodies connecting. 

No time to get used to this position, immediately he's driving his hips into you and you're bouncing, riding Javier. His hands gripping your ass, the windows fogging as the car fills with no sounds but grunts, whimpers and slaps. His mouth open and sucking at any inch of skin, finally his mouth suctioning your breast. Your hands tugs at his hair as you make a mess on his lap, the zipper of his pants will leave a mark you just know it. And you feel it, the pit, the dizziness, he feels you clench around him.

“C’mon Andrea, make a mess on me.” He grits, and you comply once again squeezing him tightly, leaking onto his lap. You're crying in pure pleasure and at your final call of his name he’s spilling into you, warm and just as messy. 

He holds you tighter as the two of you float, still blurry eyed and dazed. You catch your breath together. 

Like always you're so limp and fucked out that he takes it upon himself to disconnect the two of you and adjusts your dress. Planting sweet kisses in your hair, feeling empty and gaping you find it hard to move but he does it for you once again, guiding you back to your seat, buckling you in.

And like that you sleep for the next 3 hours of the drive

“Six more hours querida… We’re in Inez… according to the map.” 

You wake to his right hand tangled in your hair, supporting your neck. You take a few seconds to realize that you're curled up in the passenger's seat of Javier’s truck. Squeezing your eyes tightly adjusting to the full blown daylight, eyes darting to the time, 8:40 am. 

“Oh my god, do you want to switch?” You panic, you hadn't even offered splitting the labor. The ride was nine and a half hours at the very least and even harder navigating with a map. You had never driven for longer than two hours but it seems Javier is used to this sort of commute. 

His face screws in disapproval and his fingers scratch at your head. “Todo bien, you can take the last hour. We should arrive by 2, the social lunch is at 3 but we can skip that.” 

You nod, rubbing your eyes letting out an annoyed noise when his hand slides away from its place in your hair. Back to both hands on the wheel, your eyes flash down to the skirt of your dress and you feel clean? Your eyes dart to Javier’s lap and he's changed into a brown formal pant. “Did you–?”

His eyes follow yours and land back on the rolling roads, he nods. “Yeah, I cleaned you up when you were asleep and I changed… not sure how I would explain to Agent Messina what the wet spot on my pants was.”

Your brows shoot high and you laugh, “Fair point…” A fleeting feeling of uncertainty brushes you at the reference to another agent. You were alright in social settings but you're a school teacher for crying out loud, you have no idea what sort of people you’re about to encounter. In your head you see yourself walking into a dining hall full of suited men whispering and beating around the bush when asked questions of their career. You picture Javier in that setting, how you've rarely ever seen that ultra serious demeanor and disinterested aura. Rarely, but you have seen it, you remember just how cold he can be when you think of him shouldering Xavier out of his way nearly a month ago. You think of how stern he can be with you at times. Why does the thought of him working such a dangerous job scare and turn you on at the same time. 

“So…” You drag in between the silence, “What should I expect this weekend.”

“Well, today there's the DEA social lunch thing, they're holding it so the bell hops could take our things up.”

You wiggle your brows, “Fancy…”

“Yeah, well after that we can settle in but from 7 to 9 I have a mandatory conference with my new co-workers, Colombia co workers.” He clarifies and you nod. “Then we have the night to ourselves. The guys will probably want to get drinks but we do whatever you want.”

Your chest heats, you almost want to roll your eyes at him. “Whatever… Okay and Saturday?”

“I have my long conference, 10:30 am until 2:30 pm.” 

You let out a low whistle, “Four hours, jeez. Is it top secret?” 

He rolls his eyes, “Probably. Don't take it personally, you knowing I’m leaving because of Pablo Escobar is enough.”

“Yeah, yeah… and after that?”

“Right, it’ll be time just for us. French quarters maybe?”

You beam, “Yeah maybe. Are any of your office friends going away to Colombia?” The question leaves you before you can form a purpose for it. Sure you'd love to meet the friends he might've made in Houston but a small part of you worries some people there will be aware of the existence of Lorraine and they will be aware of you, not being her. Afraid of a possible awkward conversation, oh god who are you to Javi? How will he introduce you–

“I think two guys from my section should be coming along. Felipe, he’s likable and polite. Dominican guy, but there's also Julian… not a fan.” His hand goes for the cup holder, fishing out a cigarette and you narrow your eyes at him. “Will you light me?” He asks.

Still with a scalding glare you grab his light and wait for him to slip the stick between his lips. “I’m just being helpful but I don't approve.” You strike the flame with your thumb and light him up. He mumbles a thank you and continues. 

“Julian is in his mid thirties, kind of upset about my age and all that. He also got into it with Lorraine at a Christmas party a few years back.”

“Oh… what happened?”

Confirmed, you're going to die. His co-workers have met his long term girlfriend and now he's bringing you… his… oh god, are they going to think you’re in some ménage à trois? You hear stories from your college friends about white collared men and their wandering hands. 

Javier taps his cigarette on the window, his face wondering how to start this story. But he starts with all of it, “When I got moved to train and work with the DEA me and Lorraine were in a trying to make it work phase.” Drag, “You know she’s very outgoing but she can get real defensive when she has a drink in her system. Anyway we had argued the night before so tensions were high when I decided to bring her to our christmas party.”

Your brain flashes briefly an image of Lorraine holding your arms telling you you’re beautiful on New Year’s eve, guilt and shame bolt through you, you tune out a small portion of his story thinking of Lorraine and her kindness towards you. 

“…Julian decided to comment on Lorraine’s outfit choice. I mean you know how she was, very conservative being pastors daughter but when she wanted to dress up she… you remember what she wore to New Years?"

Your eyes widen, “How can I forget!” Custom made orange jumpsuit, you could’ve dropped dead from jealousy that night. 

“Well he made a comment about me letting her leave the house in her outfit.”

You scoff, “Well whatever he had coming he deserved it.” You murmur, you hated that. You know that it was typical for women to comply with what their partners want them to wear but not for your generation. That was the time of your parents, every girl now wants to dress like Madonna and it’s great. 

Javier laughs, “Yeah he did… Lorraine straight up called him… and I quote, 'a lonely short man with the complex of a man who’s 6 foot'. And slapped his drink from his hand, got all over his suit.”

You burst out into a fit of laughter, imagining the face on this stranger. The two of you laugh together at the image, but once the laughs died you fell into that familiar space of trepidation. You bask in the light silence while your brain ticks off the uncomfortable feeling of missing her as a friend. The strange sting that maybe she’ll never want to speak to you again.

“Hey…” Javi calls, ashing his cigarette in the cup holder. “¿Todo chido?”

You frown, “I don’t know… it’s stupid.” Your gaze averts out the window, passing a mall and some rest stop. His hand reaches out to your knee giving it a squeeze of encouragement. Whatever, “I kind of feel guilty? I know you two aren’t together but there’s a part of me that still wants her in my life. I liked being her friend that year.” You find it embarrassing to admit but most things are out in the open now with you and Javi, you have no time to keep these little feelings to yourselves, it’s what tore you apart for so long. 

Javier’s grip loosens and your frown deepens as he retrieves it entirely. You look to him this time and his eye twitches slightly, you know it does that when he’s keeping something hidden. No time for that. “What Javi.” You say sternly.

His head darts to you and back to the road, “Nothing…”

“Javi.” 

“Alright. With Lorraine… don’t feel guilty. She had your mind made up about you once she started college. I think her friends opened up to what was right in front of her.”

You lips twitch in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Javier sighs, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight now. “Well… I suppose they made her realize that you were a part of our relationship failing.”

“Me?” You had no part in that, he told you they had problems before the two of you kissed, before. The whole time it was all you, your crushing and whatever. You now know Javi had feelings for you then but you thought it was a back burner issue, from the stories you’ve heard it seemed like Lorraine and him were just too hot headed to be together. 

“Well me more-so but it’s easier to fester dislike for someone you don’t have to face every night, so ever since then she’s kinda built a dislike for you.”

Oh. 

Your heart is stuck somewhere again, this time between relieved and sad. Sad that after all these years of being jealous you still craved being her friend, yet it didn’t go both ways you suppose. And relieved that she already disliked you instead of possibly dropping the, hi I know we were close while you dated Javier but now I’m fucking him! 

“Never mind then…” You drag, “Well I’m sure giving her a reason to hate me.”

Javier shrugs, “Everyone hates us.” 

You giggle although the thought is absolutely terrifying to you, “Yeah… that’s true.” 

“We should talk about Frankie.” Javi pitches after your two hours of talking about everything and nothing. You groan and pull his hand to your mouth. Shaking your head you mumble into his palm. 

“Can’t talk sorry.” He scoffs at your attempt and removes his hand, whatever… you murmur. “Okay… okay. You first, mine is too much.” And it was, you’d have to detail the side of your mother he may not know, tell him about how it used to be between you and Frankie and you’d have to tell him about the accusation from your mother. 

Javi can tell it's eating you alive because he intertwined his fingers with yours the second the crease between your brows deepened. “He showed up to the house, I was scared shitless when he started the conversation with your name. The conversation… it didn't go the way I was expecting.” His voice is low for that last part, you comfort him this time, placing your free on top of the hold you two had. “I guess I hadn't realized how much of a bad friend I turned into once I left. I think I lost my way when I was in Houston, I pushed everyone to the side and I think the only person left without an apology was your brother.”

You recall the face your brother made the night Lorraine broke the Houston news. Despite being wrapped in your own panic your first instinct was to look at Frankie. Frankie stared off into the distance with the same face of worry he had when mama would yell at them, disassociating for a moment before Genie beams with excitement. He imitated a smile when squeezing Javier's shoulders in congratulations. When you really think about it, Javier had been your brother's only friend. 

“He loves you a lot, you're his family. But we are all selfish, he deserved an apology but you cant torture yourself over being oblivious.”

And you swear you see Javier’s eyes welling, you want to lean over the console and comfort him but you leave him to it. You leave him to process, letting go of his hand. He reaches for another cigarette and you light it. 

With the wrist of his smoking hand he rubs his eyes, “Okay… your turn.” He chuckles through a rasp of emotion.

You tell him all, about your father and how your mother only ever loved him and how your existence has always been a reminder of the heartache she felt that day. Javier holds onto your hand again when you tell him that Frankie was cruel to you until middle school, that he’d never comforted you, that Frankie softened up to you when Javi got in the picture. Javi couldn't believe that, it was true, no one had ever shown you kindness and Frankie attempted to follow suit. Instead it manifested in overprotection and control. 

It ended with your grandmother, with your mother cutting you off and your crushing ache for– “I’ve never truly felt loved by my family, it always felt conditional. I guess I’m reaching out to my fathers side in hopes they’ll welcome me there.” 

Javier stops at a red light and looks over to you. His mouth twitching in hesitation, “Regardless of what happens you will always have a family, no matter where we stand or if we hate each other in the next few months, you will never need to look for a family as long as I’m around.”

Valet, fancy.

You itch to comment when the bell hop takes your bags. You explore the lobby a bit while Javier is a few feet away from you getting directions to the lunch they were both craving so badly. You hoped you were properly dressed, it was a favorite dress of yours, it’s pearl color and your sandals had a wedge. 

The lobby was lavish, mosaic tiles, gilded pillars and beautiful bouquets of flowers at every turn. And it couldn’t get any better. You look up and are met with beautiful ceiling paintings and glistening chandeliers. Jesus.

“Andrea!” Javi calls from across the room and you make your way toward him. The man he spoke to was moving away to handle business elsewhere. “Everyone’s down this hall, apparently it’s more so a cocktail hour.” You groan, hungry as could be. He takes hold of your hand, in a public space, you stomach grumbles and you can’t tell if it’s from lack of food or the idea of being like this with him. He laughs, bringing a hand to squeeze your stomach. “It’s alright, I’ll call up room service later we’re just going to show face.”

Show face indeed, the room is packed. And you're a bit underdressed, dressed for lunch while everyone in the room were suited and in cocktail dresses. Your brows raising at the sight of men with guns in their holsters. Sure you're from Texas but open carry wasn't as common near you. Then again you're walking into a room of DEA agents. Javi squeezes your hand, “My co-workers are over there.”

Through the room Javier is given nods and smiles. You are too, men and women alike smiling and nodding at you too. Ahead of you was a tall woman in her 40s with shoulder length black hair, the only woman in the room with a suit. Messina, you assume, next to him is a tall dark skinned man with short buzzed hair in a gray suit. Upon arrival Javier’s face splits into a smile and he lets your hand go to hug his coworker. Felipe, you assume. 

You're left smiling and saying hello to Messina. “You look good, Vaquero.” He squeezes Javier’s waist as they part. “Missing your cowboy hat.” He jutts his chin towards Javier’s cowboy boots. Javier shook his head and rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever Yank.” Northerner, funny. For a moment you feel out of place, standing at Javier’s side without a name or acknowledgement until Felipe extends a hand out to you. 

“Pardon me, I’m from New York but I do have manners. What's your name sweetheart,”

Your brows raise at the sudden attention, you take his hand and he shakes it. Instinctually Javier steps closer to you. “Andrea, nice to meet you.”

“Beautiful name.” He smiles and looks back to Javier with raised brows. Javier squinted in distaste and snaked his around your waist to pull you into him. You smile down at your feet with a blush from both the compliment and also the way Javier’s hand felt so large splayed on your waist. “So…” He wiggles his brows and Javier scoffs at his co-workers nosiness. 

Javier looks at you briefly, “So…” He mocks, “This is my girlfriend Andrea.”

Oh. 

It's disarming the label coming from his lips, you feel a heat rise from your belly straight to your ears and cheeks. A small part of you is kicking yourself for reacting to such a label but its beautiful to the ears.

So you were his girlfriend, huh. 

“Well she’s beautiful, right Messina?”

Messina smiles, “Indeed, you can call me Claudia.” She reaches out and you take her hand, cold and soft, reminding you of the hands of your mother. 

“Can I call you Claudia?” Felipe beams.

“No.” She cuts and Javier stifles a laugh. You lean into Javier giggling at the interaction.

“Where’s your girlfriend Felipe, the receptionist?” Javi teases but Felipe seems to be equally as amused. 

Felipe smiles, “Fiancé, she's around somewhere.”

You look up at Javier who looks absolutely stunned at the announcement, “No mames…” He drags and Felipe shakes his head. He was definitely not kidding, “Congrats, wow.” Javi blinks, his eyes scanning the room. 

“This is perfect, you two could get to know each other during our meeting.” Felipe waves his finger around the air. Quickly his smile fades, “Good god… Julian coming your way. Have fun, lets go Messina, we've had enough of him today.” 

And like that the two of them sip their cocktails and leave you and Javi stranded. “Fucking assholes.” Javi chuckles before Julian comes into view and Lorraine was right. He was a short man, shorter than you. His suit hung loose on his body but he was awfully handsome and muscular. Although it looked a bit silly with his stature, you smile at him.

“Javier Peña, who’s this?” He says in a far grosser and irritating way, no way near the way Felipe asked. He stood with a glass in his hand. Javier’s face falls into that face he rarely shows you, his stone cold agent face. 

You speak before he can for you, “I’m Andrea, his girlfriend.” You offer your hand and he laughs condescendingly as he shakes it. Clammy. 

“Girlfriend?” He looks at Javier, “This one has a far better dress, a bit underdressed but at the very least not indecent.” He elbows Javier’s side, referring to Lorraine, thinking you aren't aware of whatever unfunny joke he’s attempting to make. Javier’s nostrils flare and before he says anything he’ll regret, you cut in. 

“Well you might need to head to the tailor for the pants. And the jacket lacks… a stain of booze.” You tease right back. His face drops entirely. Javier’s head snaps towards you and his mouth splits into a smile. 

He grabs your arm, “Alright, she’s had a few too many, we're going to our room.” He begins to drag you away and you giggle.

“I haven't had a drop!” You exclaim and he laughs, leaving Julian in the dust as he walks you through the room. 

“You're crazy.” He shakes his head concealing his chuckle as you two exit the room. The air conditioning hits you hard once you leave the bustling room. In an instant he’s hauled you over his shoulder in the hotel hall, “Alright let's go have sex.” 

You shriek from being off ground as he runs in the hall towards the elevator with you dangling over his shoulder. 

Back in Laredo Lorraine calls Genie apologizing about not being able to attend her bachelorette party. Genie and Lorraine had stayed in contact all 6 years, close enough that Genie had Lorraine’s name down as a possible bridesmaid. 

“It really is fine, i’ll be a dud anyway I can’t drink.” Genie jokes, she told Lorraine that she’s trying to get pregnant but not that she’s actually carrying. She excuses her new dry lifestyle on not wanting to gain weight before the wedding. In reality all she’s been doing is gaining weight. 

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, how’s the wedding planning going? Almost a week, are you ready?” She beams, sitting on the counter top of the apartment her and Javi shared. She had half her things packed to come home for the wedding. 

Genie chuckles, “Girl, that’s none of my business. That’s all Andrea and Ms. Diaz.” 

Lorraine bites the inside of her cheek at the sound of your name. She wonders if you and Javier have seen each other since he went home or if you still held that fiery personality and kept distance. 

“Andrea… How’s she doing?” Lorraine closes her eyes, a bit fearful of how it sounded. 

“Oh Andrea? She’s good, teaching school and all that. She’s on a little weekend trip with Javier though. She deserves a break.”

Lorraine feels her cheeks heat in jealousy. 

“Are they—? You know, together?”

She doesn’t care now, she feels it’s her right to know. Genie is silent for a moment and each second that passes Lorraine is angrier.

“No, they aren’t. You know they’ve always been close.”

“Well she’s always had a crush on him though, knowing Javier they’re probably fucking somewhere… that fucking man…”

“Alright, no need to speculate.” Genie interrupts. “It’s their business, but I’m highly doubtful.” 

Lorraine scoffs and looks down at her growing belly. Her brows furrowing and a sudden wave of hope. 

“Right…” She flattens her hand there, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

[sluckythewizard]

BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

[nanaminokanojo]

THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 52)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

GENRE: college au | eventual smut | smau | smau + prose | everything in between | ons | fubus to lovers | aged-up characters | idk where this is going

⚠️ TW/CW: strong/mature language | 🔞 | mentions of alcohol, smoking, etc. | this will most likely have narrations | god-awful pet names | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 52 next>>

A/N: Contains prose.

-

"Hot ride you got there."

Satoru looked up from his phone, looking at you over the top rims of his aviators. He pushed himself away from where he was leaning on the car – a different one from what he usually uses: top down, perfect for your short road trip to your home. He grinned, happy that you found it to your liking, but he couldn't pay much attention to that as you strutted towards him. With your luggage in tow and a backpack slung on your left shoulder, you basked in the morning sun, wearing white shorts and a graphic muscle tee with armholes extending just above your waist. It gave him a peek of your black sports bra underneath.

"Good morning, indeed!" he greeted you, taking your things and tossing them on the backseat as if they weighed nothing. He then faced you, slipping a hand through one of your armholes so that he was holding onto the small of your back as he pulled you flush against him, startling you.

"You're being unfair right now. How do you expect me to keep my hands to myself while I drive?" he whined close to your ear.

A smirk drew itself across your mouth as you plucked his sunglasses from the tip of his nose and propped it over his head instead, meeting his cerulean eyes without any obstruction. "You're going to have your hands busy. No way around it."

He clucked his tongue. "That sucks, but at least I can have my morning kiss."

Your eyes widened when both his hands moved lower, cupping your ass and sliding his palms down the back of your thighs before lifting you easily so that your legs were wrapped around his waist. You braced yourself on his shoulders, and he took your preoccupation to claim your lips with his, the kiss so heated that you felt the intense degree of want emanating from him.

You pulled away with a snicker. "Put me down, Satoru."

"Shame."

As you wished, he set you on your feet, but before you could regain your balance, he placed a hand behind your neck, locking you in place with his mouth against yours for the second time. He exhaled harshly through his nose, moaning shamelessly against your mouth and sneakily inserting a hand between you two to touch one of your breasts, giving it a light squeeze.

"Satoru!"

He kissed you on the cheek before backing away with his hands up in mock surrender. He then opened the door to the passenger side, gesturing for you to board the car.

You shrugged, passing by him with an annoyed look, but that was just to conceal how flustered you were at his boldness. He then closed the door, but in the next second, he bent down and stole another kiss, this time landing on your left cheek.

"Hey –"

"That should be enough for the next two hours." He rounded the car, shaking his head. "Or not."

He hopped into the car, putting his aviators back on before looking at you with a grin as he started the car. "Ready?"

You couldn't help but join in his conviviality and just chuckled. "Ready as I'm gonna be."

-

~*~

TAGS LIST: @arxliana @neeneee @charlie-xo @aelynaneedsalottathing @arizzu @cloudxp @justpuddinglol @mikkies @nyfwyeonjun @whats-humanity-lol

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20230829]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[bloodtwin]

❝ 𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐌 . . .          ⸻ 𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐌 ！！！

# 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 ; independent, selective 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄 from 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈. oc, crossover & multimuse friendly. fellow durges welcome. 21+. n.sfw. durge-typical violence & the like. written by 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌. he/him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ！！！ this blog contains HORROR, GORE, 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄, a RABID DIRTY DOG that bites, the RELIGIOUS TRAUMA of god's favorite son, ridiculously UNHEALTHY SIBLING DYNAMICS, the feeling of being HAUNTED BY A PAST YOU CANNOT RETURN TO, CANNIBALISM as a source of nutrition (not a metaphor for love), SELF-DESTRUCTIVE TENDENCIES, & mentions of NECROPHILIA.

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒. 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒. 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄.

𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆: accultant , bloodyarn , grief-worn , lovepvnch , silvertiefling , sleetkissed , zalimbane . . .

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆: alurlssrinbled , ambitiousness , bloodsoakedurge , caniasfire , crimesought , estarion , faebhaal , fleshcarverfugitive , h3llslinger , murderreign , relentlessgrief , speculor , starcunin , whomuses , writtenmisfits . . .

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐒 & 𝐀𝐑𝐓 ©: @bleedingspiral , @bernardsbendystraws , @accultant , @bloodyarn , myself :3 & here ！

⸻ 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓 ⸻

𝟎𝟏. 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐘: No, seriously. This blog is a dark comedy first & a Greek tragedy second. There are always shenanigans happening here. We are just having fun & playing dolls together. :o)

𝟎𝟐. 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒: That being said, I did say dark comedy. There will be blood, guts & gore with a dash of cannibalism & necrophilia on this blog. I will always tag cannibalism, necrophilia, & any graphic visuals.

IF WE FOLLOW EACH OTHER, PLEASE TAG ANY MENTIONS OF C.OCKROACHES SPECIFICALLY, ESPECIALLY IMAGES.

𝟎𝟑. 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆: I use glitter gifs in my replies. PLEASE let me know if I should not use them, or any other kind of formatting I have, in threads with you. I will always tag them as "cw f.lashing g.if" ！

𝟎𝟒. 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: I am very chatty both in the tags of replies & in general on the dashboard but tend to be shy in DMs at first. I promise this is nothing to do with you. I'm just autistic, hehe.

MUTUALS: I know I just said I'm shy in DMs, but feel free to ask for my discord. It's easier to chit-chat there. :o)

𝟎𝟓. 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗: Best way to get something going with me. It's always open & you're always free to turn asks into threads. Get in there, champ ！

𝟎𝟔. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆: I'm a sucker for ships & am always open to them. However, if you are interested in shipping with Puck, I would strongly suggest reading this post beforehand. 

𝟎𝟕. 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖: Mun & muse are both 21+. There will be suggestive content on this blog, including smut. Do NOT follow if you are a minor or do not have your age range somewhere on your blog. I will block you.

𝟎𝟖. 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄: Puck is an extremely powerful character. I created him with the idea that he is, in theory, an unstoppable force of violence. The only thing holding him back from destroying the world is the fact that he is kind-hearted. Please keep in mind that he is very strong & I will not water him down. I do my best to keep him as balanced & fair as possible while not compromising the story I've written for him, but please do not assume your character can land a hit on him.

𝟎𝟗. 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍: This blog is heavily associated with accultant , my friend's RP blog for Puck's twin Iago. A lot of Puck's lore involves them & I refer to them in threads ALL THE TIME, so please check them out too ！！